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THE

BRITISH ESSAYISTS;

WITH PREFACES, HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL,
BY A. CHALMERS, F.S.A.

In 38 vols. 16ino,

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THE BRITISH ESSAYISTS.

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^•'ie/ci

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l^HA.

THE

BRITISH ESSAYISTS:

WITH

PREFACES,

HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL,

BT

A. CHALMERS, F. S. A.

VOLUME XVI.

BOSTON:
I^ I T T L !•: , H R O W N AND C 0 M 1> A H f .

M.DCCC.LVI.

R I V E R s 1 u E , Cambridge:

PRINTED BY U. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.

STEREOTYPED BY STONE AND SMART.

RAMBLER.

Nullius acMictus jurare in verba magistri,
Quo me cunque rapit tempestaf, deferor ho«pes.

HOR. EPIST. i. 1. 14.

No. l^GU.

CONTENTS.

VOL. XVI.

so.

Historical and Biographical Preface.

1. DiflBculty of the First Address — Practice of the

Epic Poets — Convenience of Periodical Per-
formances JOHNSON.

2. The Necessity and Danger of looking into Futurity

— Writers naturally Sanguine — Their Hopes

liable to Disappointment

3. An Allegory on Criticism

4. The Modern Form of Romances preferable to the

Ancient — The Necessity of Characters morally
Good

5. A Meditation on the Spring

6. Happiness not local

7. Retirement natural to a great Mind — Its religious

Use

8. The Thoughts to be brought under Regulation; as

they respect the Past, Present, and Future

9. The Fondness of every Man for his Profession —

The gradual Improvement of Manufactures. ...

VI CONTENTS.

NO.

10. Four Billets, with their Answers — Eemarks on Mas-

querades MISS MULSO.

11. The Folly of Anger— The Misery of a Peevish old

Ase JOHNSON.

12. The History- of a Young Woman that came to Lon-

don for a Service

13. The Duty of Secrecy— The Invalidity of all Ex-

cuses for betraying Secrets ■

14. The Difference between an Author's Writings and

his Conversation -

15. The Folly of Cards — A Letter from a Lady that

has lost her Money ■

16. The Dangers and Misery of Litei-ary Eminence. . .

17. The frequent Contemplation of Death necessary

to moderate the Passions -

18. The Unhappiness of Marriage caused by irregular

IMotives of Choice ■

19. The Danger of ranging from one Study to another

— The Importance of the early Choice of a Pro-
fession

20. The Folly and Inconvenience of AtVectation ■

21. The Anxieties of Literature not less than those of

puljlic Stations — The Inequality of Authors'
Writings ■

22. An Allegory on Wit and Learning •

23. The Contrariety of Criticism — The Vanity of Ob-

jection— An Author obliged to depend upon his
own Judgment

24. The Necessity of attending to the Duties of Com-

mon Life — The Natural Character not to be for-
saken

CONTEXTS. Vll

NO.

25. Rashness preferable to Cowardice — Enterprise not

to be repressed johnsox.

26. Tlie Mischief of Extravagance, and Misery of De-

pendence

27. An Aiitiior's Treatment from six Patrons

28. The Various Arts of Self-Delusion

29. The Folly of anticipating Misfortunes

30. The Observance of Sunday recommended; an Al-

legory MISS TALI50T.

31. The Defence of a known Mistake highly culpable joiinson.

32. The Vanity of Stoicism — The Necessity of Pa-

tience

33. An allegorical Historv of Rest and Labour

34. The Uneasiness and Disgust of Female Cowardice

35. A Marriage of Prudence without Affection

36. The Reason why Pastorals delight

37. The true Principles of Pastoral Poetry

38. The Advantage of Mediocrity — An Eastern Fable

39. The Unhappiness of Women, whether single or

married

40. The Ditlkulty of giving Advice without oflending

41. The Advantages of Memory

42. The Misery of a Modish Lady in Solitude

43. The Inconveniences of Prccijtitation and Confi-

dejice

44. Religion and Superstition, a Vision mhs. cai:iki{.

iu. The Causes of Disagreement in Marriage joiinson.

Vlll CONTENTS.

NO.

46. The Mischiefs of Rural Faction johnson.

47. The proper Means of regulating Soitow

48. The Miseries of an Infirm Constitution

49. A Disquisition upon the Value of Fame

50. A virtuous Old Age always reverenced

51. The Employments of a Housewife in the Country

62. The Contemplation of the Calamities of others, a
Remedy for Grief

53. The Folly and Misery of a Spendthrift

54. A Death-bed the true School of Wisdom — The Ef-

fects of Death upon the Survivors

55. The gay Widow's Impatience of the Growth of her

Daughter — The History of Miss May-pole

56. The Necessity of Complaisance — The Rambler's

Grief for offending his Correspondents

57. Sententious Rules of Frugality

58. The Desire of Wealth moderated by Philosophy, .

59. An Account of Suspirius, the human Screech-owl

60. The Dignity and Usefulness of Biography

HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL

PREFACE

TO

THE RAMBLER

When Dr. Johnson iind(^rtook to write this
justly celebrated paper, he had many difh-
culties to encounter. If, lamenting that dur-
ing th(; long period which had elapsed since
the conclusion of the A\Titings of Addison,
vice and folly had begun to recover from
depression and contempt, he wished again to
rectify public taste and manners, to " give
confidence to virtue and ardour to truth," he
knew that the popularity of those writings
had constituted them a precedent, whic-h his
genius was incapable of following, and from
which it would be dangerous to tlepart. In
the character of an Essayist, he was hitherto
unknown to the public. He had written
nothing by which a favorable judgment could

10 HISTORICAL AND

be formed of his success in a species of com-
position, which seemed to requii*e the ease,
and vivacity, and humour of polished life ;
and he had, probably, often heard it repeated
that Addison and his colleagues had antici-
pated all the subjects fit for a popular essay :
that he might, indeed, aim at varying or im-
proving what had been said before, but could
stand no chance of being esteemed an original
writer, or of striking the imagination by new
and unexpected reflections and incidents. He
was likewise, perhaps, aware that he might
be reckoned, what he about this time calls
himself, " a retired and uncourtly scholar,"
unfit to describe, because precluded from the
observation of refined society and manners.

But they who pride themselves on long and
accurate knowledge of the world, are not
aware how little of that knowledge is neces-
sary in order to expose vice, or detect absurd-
ity ; nor can they believe that evidence, far
short of ocular demonstration, is amply suffi-
cient for the purposes of the wit and the
moralist. Dr. Johnson appeared in the char-
acter of a moral teacher with powers of mind
beyond the common lot of man, and with a
knowledge of the inmost recesses of the
human heart, such as never was displayed
with more elegance, or stronger conviction.
Though, in some respects, a recluse, he had
not been an inattentive observer of human
life; and he was now of an age at which,
probably, as much is known as can be known,

BIOGRAl'IIICAL PUEFACK. 11

and at which the full vii^rour of his faculties
enabled him to divulge his experience and
his observations, with a certainty that they
were neither immature nor fallacious. He
had studied, and he had noted the varieties
of human character ; and it is evident, that
the lesser improprieties of conduct, and errors
of domestic life, had often been the subjects
of his secret ridicule.

Previously to the commencement of The
Rambler, he had drawn the outlines of many
essays, of which specimens may be seen in
the biographies of Sir John Ilawkins, and
Mr. Boswell ; and it is probable that the sen-
timents of all these papers had been long
floating in his mind. With such preparation,
he began The Rambler without any communi-
cation with his friends, or desire of assistance.
Whether he proposed the scheme himself,
does not appear ; but he was fortunate in
fornung an engagement with Mr. John Payne,
a bookseller in Paternoster-row, and after-
w^ards the chief accountant in the bank of
England;* a man with whom he lived many
years in habits of friendsliip ; and who, on the
present occasion, treated his author with great

* This office he resigned .111110 30, 1785. lie IkuI In-en long
the friend and disciple of Dr. .Jiiines Foster, an eminent dis-
pcritf-r, !)Ut aftcr\v:iril-< hecanie no less an admirer of the pious
William Law, and wrote a volume in his defence, a<jainst Dr.
Warburton. Ho published also a volume of Evangelical Dis-
courses, and gave a new Tran-lntion of Thoni;i> iv Keni{)is, being
dis->ati-;lied witli the ll*o^e parapiiruse of Dean Stanhope. In all
these his abilities appeared to considerable advaulugo. Ho dioU
March 10, 17b7, at an advanced ago.

12 HISTORICAL AND

liberality. He engaged to pay him two guineas
for each paper, or four guineas per week, which
at that time must have been to Johnson a very
considerable sum ; and he admitted him to a
share of the future profits of the work, when
it should be collected into volumes; which
share Johnson afterwards sold.

The commencement of The Rambler was
a matter of great importance with the author,
as if he had foreseen that this work was here-
after to constitute his principal fame ; and as
he had wisely determined that his fame should
rest as much on the good he had done, as on
the pleasure he might afford, with his accus-
tomed piety, he composed and offered up the
following prayer, entitled " Prayer on The
Rambler."

"Almighty God, the giver of all good things,
without whose help all labor is ineSectual, and
without whose grace all wisdom is folly;
grant, I beseech Thee, that in this my under-
taking thy Holy Spirit may not be withheld
from me, but that I may promote thy glory,
and the salvation both of myself and others ;
grant this, O Lord, for the sake of Jesus
Christ. Amen."

It has already been noticed,* that objections
have been offered to the name Rambler. In
addition to what was then suggested on this
subject, we may give the account he rendered
to Sir Joshua Reynolds, which forms, prob-

* Preftxce to the Guardian.

BIOGRArillCAL PREFACE. 13

ably, as good an excuse as so trifling a cir-
cumstance demands. " What must be done,
Sir, will be done. When I was to begin
publishing that paper, I was at a loss how to
name it. I sat down at night upon my bed-
side, and resolved that I would not go to
sleep till I had fixed its title. The Rambh^r
seemed the best that occurred, and I took
it." The Italians have literally translated
this name by 11 Vagabondo.

The first paper was published on Tuesday,
March 20, 1749-30, and the work continued,
without the least interruption, every Tuesday
and Saturday, until Saturday, March 14,*
1752, on which day it closed. Each number
was handsomely printed on a sheet and a
half of tine paper, at tlie price of two-pence,
and with great typographical accuracy, not
above a dozen errors occurring in the whole
work ; a circumstance the more remarkable,
because the copy was written in haste, as the
tirne urged, and sent to the press without
being revised by the author. When we con-
sider that, in thci whole progress of the work,
tlie sum of assistance he received scarcely
amounted to five papers, we must wonder at
the fertility of a mind engaged during the
same period in that stupendous labour. The
English Dictionary, and frecpieiitly distraeted
by disease and anguish, 'i'here is not in the
annals of literature an instance wliicii can be

♦ Krroneously printed in the fol. edit. Murcli 17.

14 HISTORICAL AND

brought as a parallel to this, if we take every
circumstance into the account. Other Essay-
ists have had the choice of their days, and
their happy hours, for composition ; but Dr.
Johnson knew no remission, although he very
probably would have been glad of it, and
yet continued to write with unabated vigor
although even this disappointment might be
supposed to have often rendered him uneasy,
and his natural indolence — not the indolence
of will, but of constitution — would in other
men have palsied every effort. Towards the
conclusion, there is so little of that " falling
off" visible in some works of the same kind,
that it might probably have been extended
much further, had the encouragement of the
public borne any proportion to its merits.

The sale was very inconsiderable, and sel-
dom exceeded five hundred ; and it is very
remarkable, and a most curious trait in the
taste of the age, that the only paper which
had a prosperous sale, and may be said to
have been ))opular, was one which Dr. Jolin-
son did not write.* This was No. 97, written
by Richardson, the author of Clarissa, Pamela,
and Sir Charles Grandison. Dr. Johnson
introduces it to his readers with an elegant
com})liment, as tlie production " of an author
from whom the age has received greater
favours ; who has enlarged the knowledge of
human nature, and taught the passions to

* Upon tlio authority of Mr. Payne, communicated to Mr.
Nichols, and by him to the present writer.

BIOGRAPHICAL rRKFAP-K. 15

move at the command of virtue." Greater
favours the age had undoubtedly received from
Richardson, for this paper is of very inferior
merit, in point of style ; and, as to subject,
proceeds upon an error that may be easily
detected. It complains how much the modes
of courtship are degenerated since the days
of The Spectator, who repeatedly makes the
same complaint.

As the assistance Dr. Johnson received was
so trifling, in respect to quantity, all the notice
of it that is necessary may be dispatched
before we proceed further. The four billets
in No. 10 were written by Miss Mulso, after-
wards Mrs. Chapoiie, who will come to be
mentioned in the Preface to The Adventurer.
No. 30 was WT-itten by Miss Catherine Talbot,
a lady of whom a very exalted character has
been handed down. She was the only daugh-
ter of the Rev. Edward Talbot, Archdeacon
of Berks, and Preacher at the Rolls. She
possessed great natural talents, a vigorous
understanding, a lively imagination, and
refined taste. Her principal works, " Reflec-
tions on the Seven Days of the Week," and
" Essays on Various Subjects, 2 vols.," breathe
the noblest spirit of Christian benevolence,
and discover a more than common acquaint-
ance with human nature.

Miss Talbot lived many years in the family
of Archbishop Seeker, who made a very
lii)eral provision for her and her mother in his
will, leaving them the interest, for their lives,

16 HISTORICAL AND

of fourteen thousand pounds, which he di-
rected to be afterwards given to various char-
ities. During her residence with the venerable
prelate, a singular occurrence took place. In
1759, the unhappy Dr. Dodd published an
edition of Bisliop Hall's Meditations, and
dedicated them to Miss Talbot. This dedi-
cation, however, was so strongly expressed as
to give great offence to the Archbishop, who,
after a warm epistolary expostulation, insisted
on the sheet being cancelled in all the remain-
ing copies. Dodd's object was preferment ;
and he was weak enough to think no flattery
too gross, by which his wish might be accom-
plished. Miss Talbot died Jan. 9, 1770, in
her 49th year. Besides the works already
mentioned, she was the author of a beautiful
and fanciful letter to a new-born child, daugh-
ter of Mr. John Talbot, a son of the Lord
Chancellor,* and was one of the writers in
" The Athenian Letters."

The only remaining contributor was Mrs.
Elizabeth Carter, who wrote Nos. 44 and 100;
and who, at the distance of half a century,
enjoyed in full possession that liberal and
enlightened mind, which had engaged the
esteem and admiration of successive genera-
tions of wits and scholars. Of this excellent
lady. Dr. Johnson used to say, that her learn-

* Annual Register, 1770. But a nmch more full and excellent
account of this lady is given in Butler's Life of Bisliop Hildes-
ley, wiiich I liad not seen, when the above sketch was prepared
for the former edition of the British Essayists.

BIOGRAPHICAL TREFACE. 17

ing did not interfere with her domestic duties.
" She eould make a pudding as well as trans-
late Epictetus from the Greek ; and work a
handkerchief as well as compose a poem."
He once composed a Greek epigram to Eliza
(Carter), and declared that she ought to be
celebrated in as many ditierent languages as
Lewis le Grand. Mrs. Carter died Feb. 19,
1806. Her Memoirs have since been pub-
lished, in quarto and octavo, by her nephew
and executor, the Rev. M. Pennington ; a
work replete with valuable opinions and
remarks on subjects connected with the lite-
rary periods of her long life.*

Such was the whole of the assistance our
author received in the progress of this work,
although, with the usual license of essayists,
he speaks, in his tenth paper, " of the number
of correspondents increasing upon him every
day." Sir John Hawkins informs us that " he
forbore to solicit assistance, and few pre-
sumed to ofler it." That he forbore to solicit
assistance may be readily believed, but it can-
not be doubted that he would have been glad
to receive it; and it is evident that he thank-
fully accepted what he thought worthy of
insertion. Every man who has undertaken a
work of this descri})tion, will feel the distress
of his situation, and know by experience, that
he " who condemns himself to compose on a
stated day, will often bring to his task an

* The second letter iu No. 107 was from an unknown corre-
Bpondent.

VOL. XVL 2

18 HISTORICAL AND

attention dissipated, a memory embarrassed,
an imagination overwhelmed, a mind dis-
tracted with anxieties, a body languishing
with disease ; he will labor on a barren topic,
till it is too late to change it ; or, in the ardor
of invention, diftlise his thoughts into wild
exuberance, which the pressing law of publi-
cation cannot suffer judgment to examine or
reduce." * Yet, in perusing The Rambler,
who can discover the obstructions so feel-
ingly lamented in this passage — the dissi-
pated attention — the embarrassed memory
— or the distracted mind ? That the author's
morbid melancholy gave a certain tinge to
his sentiments may be frequently discovered ;
but, as compositions, we can discover in them
no defects that are not common to those who,
though writing at ease, write rapidly, and
without revision. This remark, however, ap-
plies only to what is not now before the pub-
lic, the first edition of these papers, and will
be more amply illustrated hereafter.

The Rambler made its way very slowly
into the world. All scholars, all men of taste,
saw its excellence at once, and crowded round
the author to solicit his friendship, and relieve
his anxieties. It procured him a multitude
of friends and admirers among men distin-
guished for rank as well as genius ; and, if
the expression be pardonable, it constituted
an ample and perpetual apology for that rug-

* Rambler, last paper.

BIOGRAPIIICAL TREFACE. 19

ged and uncourtly manner Avhich sometimes
rendered his conversation formidable, and to
those who looked from the book to the man,
presented a contrast that would no doubt fre-
quently excite amazement. The ditlerence,
however, between an author and his writings,
and the folly of expecting that the graces of
style and of manners should be inseparable,
are illustrated by himself in a comparison,
perhaps one of the most striking in the Eng-
lisli language. " A transition from an author's
book to his conversation, is too often like an
entrance into a large city, after a distant
prospect. Remotely, we see nothing but
spires of temples, and turrets of palaces,
and imagine it the residence of splendor,
grandeur, and magnificence ; but, when we
have passed the gates, we find it perplexed
with narrow passages, disgraced with des-
picable cottages, embarrassed with obstruc-
tions, and clouded with smoke." *

Such, indeed, was his fate when viewed
with common eyes, when visited by those
who said they admired, but could not love
him; and who did not discover that the love
which is fixed upon superficial accomplish-
ments, in preference to vigor of mind and
imagination, was not that which Dr. John-
son would court. Still, it must be confessed,
there were, at first, many prejudices against
The Rambler to be overcome. The style was

* Rambler, No. 14.

20 HISTORICAL AND

new ; it appeared harsh, involved, and per-
plexed ; it required more than a transitory
inspection to be understood ; it did not suit
those who run as they read, and who seldom
return to a book if the hour which it helped
to dissipate can be dissipated by more active
pleasures. When reprinted in volumes, how-
ever, the sale gradually increased : it was
recommended by the friends of religion and
lierature, as a book by which a man might
be taught to think ; and the author lived to
see ten large editions printed in England, be-
sides those which were clandestinely printed
in other parts of Great Britain, in Ireland,
and in America. Since his death, at least
ten more may be added to this number.

Of the characters described in The Rambler,
some were not altogether fictitious. Pros-
pero, in No. 200, was intended for Garrick;
although the character is heightened some-
what beyond nature, which is frequently
necessary to make vanity more ridiculous.
Yet, notwithstanding the vast disproportion
in their fates, for which, if there was any
blame, it rested with the public, Dr. Johnson
would not tamely suffer Garrick's character
to be injured, while he reserved to himself the
privilege of laughing at his foibles ; and the
concluding passage of • tlie paper in question,
was probably written from a consciousness
that there was more of temper than judgment
in the character drawn by Asper.

It is singular that Swift, likewise, had a

BIOGIlArilK AL I'UIU'ACE. 21

friend on whose success in life he coukl not
always look with complacency. " Stratford,
(a merchant,) is worth a plum, and is now
lending the government X40,000, yet we were
educated together at the same school and
university." * Budgell in Spectator, No. 3-33,
thus describes these school-fellows : " One of
them was not only thought an impenetrable
blockhead at school, but still maintained his
reputation at the university ; the other was
the pride of his master, and the most cele-
brated person in the college of which he w^as
a member. The man of genius is at present
buried in a country parsonage of eight score
pounds a year ; while the other, with the bare
abilities of a comjnon scrivener, has got an
estate of above an hundred thousand pounds."
But these inequalities are too common, and
too well sanctioned, to be removed either by
complaint or envy. Whoever is ambitious
of literary fame must be content with the
terms on which the world has been pleased
to grant it; and this Johnson knew, for no
man ever complained less of public neglect.

Mrs. Piozzi in forms us that by Ge/idus, the
philosopher, No. 24, the author meant to
represent Mr. Coulson, a mathematician, who
formerly lived at Rochester. The man " im-
mortalized for purring like a cat," was one
Busby, a proctor in the Commons. He who
barked so ingeniously, and then called the

« Swift's Work?, vol. 22, p. 10. cr. oct.

22 HISTORICAL AND

drawer to drive away the dog, was father to
Dr. Salter of the Charter-house. He who
sung a song, and by coiTespondent motions
of his arm chalked out a giant on the wall,
was one Richardson, an attorney. For these
assignments I know of no other authority.
Dr. Salter, senior, when Dr. Johnson became
acquainted with him, was a man of seventy
years, and a member of the Ivy-lane Club.
He had, probably, told the company that this
barking like a dog was a trick of his youth,
and Johnson might introduce it without any
disrespect to his friend. Mr. Boswell has
heard him relate, with much satisfaction, that
several of the characters in The Rambler were
drawn so naturally, that, when it first circu-
lated in numbers, the members of a club in
one of the towns in Essex, imagined them-
selves to be severally exhibited in it, and
were much incensed against a person, who,
they suspected, had thus made them objects
of public notice ; nor were they quieted till
authentic assurance was given them, that The
Rambler was written by a person who had
never heard of any one of them.*

The Rambler was reprinted in London, in
six volumes, 12mo., for Payne and Bouquet,
1752 ; and about the same time an edition
was published in Scotland, of which Mr. Bos-
well gives the following account.

* Polyphilus, in No. 19, is said to have been drawn from the
vari(nis studies of Floyer Sydeniiam, but no produce of his
studies is known, except his translations.

BIOGKAnilCAL PREFACE. 23

" Mr. James Elphinstono, -who lias since
published various works, and who was ever
esteemed by Johnson as a worthy man, hap-
pened to be in Scotland when The Rambler
was coming out in single papers at London.
With a laudable zeal, at once, for the improve-
ment of his countrymen, and the reputation of
his friend, he suggested and took the charge
of an edition of those Essays, at Edinburgh,
which followed, progressively, the London
publication. It was executed in the printing-
oliice of Sands, IMurray, and Cochran, with
uncommon elegance, upon writing-paper, of
a duodecimo size, and with the greatest cor-
rectness ; and ^Ir. Elphinstone enriched it
with translations of the mottoes. When com-
pleted, it made eight handsome volumes. It
is, unquestionably, the most accurate and
beautiful edition of this work ; and there
being but a small impression, it is now be-
come scarce, and sells at a very high price."

This account is not given with Mr. Bos-
well's usual precision in matters of fact.
Either he never saw this Edinburgh edition,
or he never took the trouble to compare a
single page of it with any London edition, in
order to ascertain the great accuracy which
he extols. That it is a publication distin-
guished for typographical beauty, is undeni-
able, but it is a literal copy of the folio
Raml)ler, without one of the many thousand
alterations, which Dr. Jolmson made in the
Lontlon second and third editions. These

24 HISTORICAL AND

alterations, indeed, form a part of the history
of this work, with which Mr. Boswell appears
to have been totally unacquainted ; nor have
I found any of the few surviving friends of
the author aware of it. The circumstance,
however, is of such importance as to require
some detail. It is something to have gleaned
a new fact after sq careful an inquirer as Mr.
Boswell.

The general opinion entertained by Dr.
Johnson's friends was, that he wrote as cor-
rectly and elegantly in haste, and under
various obstructions of person and situation,
as other men can, who have health, and ease,
and leisure for the limce labor.

Mr. Boswell says, with great truth, that
" Posterity will be astonished when they are
told, upon the authority of Johnson himself,
that many of these discourses, which we
should suppose had been labored with all the
slow attention of literary leisure, were written
in haste, as the moment pressed, without even
being read over by him before they were
printed. It can be accounted for only in this
way : that by reading and meditation, and a
very close inspection of life, he had accumu-
lated a great fund of miscellaneous know-
ledge, which, by a peculiar promptitude of
mind, was ever ready at his call, and which
he .had constantly accustomed himself to
clothe in the most apt and energetic expres-
sion. Sir Joshua Reynolds once asked him
bv what means he had attained his extra-

BlOGRAnilCAL PREFACE. 25

ordinary accuracy and flow of language. He
told him that he had early laid it down, as a
fixed rule, to do Ins best on every occasion,
and in every company: to impart whatever
he knew, in the most forcible language he
could put it in ; and that by constant prac-
tice, and never suffering any careless expres-
sions to escape him, or attempting to deliver
his thouo^hts without arransrins: them in the
clearest manner^ it became habitual to him."*
Mr. Boswell afterwards remarks that those
Essays, for which the author had made no
preparation, in his Adversaria^ or Common-
place-book, " are as rich and as highl// finish-
ed as those for which hints were lying by
him."f

Sir John Hawkins informs us, that these
Essays hardly ever underwent a revision
before they were sent to the press, and adds,
" The original manuscripts of The Rambler
have passed through my hands, and by the
perusal of them, 1 am warranted to say, as
was said of Shakspeare by the players of his
time, that he never blotted out a line^ and I
believe w^ithout the risk of that retort which
Ben Jonson made to them, ' Would he had
blotted out a thousand.' " |

* Life of Johnson, vol. i, p. 178-9, 2d. edit. t Ibid.

X Hawkins, p. 381, which is confirmed by the followiiiji; pas-
sage in Boswell's Life, vol. ii. p. 405. Johnson " told us, ahriost
Jill his Ramblers were written just as they were wanted for the
press; that he sent a certain portion of the copy of an essay,
and wrote the remainder, while the former jjart of it was print-
ing. When it was wanted, and he had fairly sat down to it, ho
was sure it would be done."

26 HISTORICAL AND

Mr. Murphy, a more agreeable authority
on a question of taste and composition,
classes Dr. Johnson among those writers
who, using his own words in his Ufe of Pope,
" employ at once memory and invention, and
with little intermediate use of the pen, form
and polish large masses by continued medita-
tion, and write their productions only when,
in their opinion, they have completed them.
This last," Mr. Murphy adds, " was Johnson's
method. He never took his pen in hand till
he had well weighed his subject, and grasped
in his mind the sentiments, the train of argu-
ment, and the arrangement of the whole. As
he often thought aloud, he had, perhaps,
talked it over to himself. This may account
for that rapidity with which, in general, he
dispatched his sheets to the press, without
being at the trouble of a fair copy."*

Such are the opinions of those friends of
Dr. Johnson who had long lived in his society,
had studied his writings, and were eager to
give to the public every information by which
its curiosity to know the history of so emi-
nent a character might be gratified. But by
what fatality it has happened that they were
ignorant of the vast labour Dr. Johnson em-
ployed in correcting this work after it came
from the first press, it is not easy to deter-
mine. This circumstance, indeed, might not
fall within the scope of Mr. Murphy's elegant

* Murphy's Essay on the Life aud Genius of Dr. Johnson,
p. 103, edit. 1793.

BIOGRArillCAL rHEFACE. 27

Essay ; but had it been known to Sir Jolin
Hawkins, or to Mr. Boswell, they would, un-
doubtedly, have been eager to bring it forward
as an important event in Dr. Johnson's liter-
ary history. Mr. Boswell has given us some
various readings of the " Lives of the Poets,"
and the reader will probably agree with him,
that although the author's " amendments in
that work are for the better, there is nothing
of the pannus afflatus ; the texture is uniform,
and, indeed, what had been there at first is
very seldom unfit to have remained." * At
the conclusion of these various readings, he
offers an apology, of which I may be permit-
ted to avail myself. — " Should it be objected,
that many of my various readings are incon-
siderable, those who make the objection will
be pleased to consider, that such small partic-
ulars are intended for those who are nicely
critical in composition, to whom they will be
an acceptable collection."

Is it not surprising that this friend and
companion of our illustrious author, who has
obliged the public with the most perfect deli-
neation ever exhibited of any human being,

* These were the alterations made by the author in tlie man-
uscript, or in the proof before pubhcation for tlic second eilition.
Mr. Hoswell does not seem to have known that Dr. .loluison
made so many alterations for the third edition as to induce Mr.
Nichols to collect them in an octavo pamphlet of three sheets
closely priyted, which was given to the purchasers of the second
octavo edition. Since Mr. Nichols obligingly furnished me with
the history of this j):imj)hlet, I have been the less surjirised at
Mr. lios well's not suspecting the alterations in The lituubler.

28 HISTORICAL AND

and who declared so often that he was deter-
mined

To lose no drop of that immortal man;

that one so inquisitive after the most trifling
circumstance connected with Dr. Johnson's
character or history, should have never heard
or discovered that Dr. Johnson almost rewrote
The Rambler after the first folio edition ? Yet
the fact was, that he employed the limcB labo-
rem not only on the second, but on the third
edition, to an extent I presume never known
in the annals of literature, and may be said
to have carried Horace's rule far beyond
either its letter or spirit : —

VosO
— carmen reprehendite, quod non
Multa dies et multa litura coercuit, atque
Perfectixm decies non castigavit ad unguem.

Never the verse approve, and hold as good,
'Till many a day and many a blot has wi'ought
The polished work, and chasten'd every thought,
By tenfold labour to perfection brought. colman.

The alterations made by Dr. Johnson in the
second and third editions of The Rambler far
exceed six thousand ; a number which may
perhaps justify the use of the word rewrote,
although it must not be taken in. its literal
acceptation. If it be asked of what nature
are these alterations, or why that was altered
which the world thought perfect, the author
may be allowed to answer for himself. Not-
withstanding its fame, while printing in single

BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 29

numbers, the encomiums of the learned, and
the applause of friends, he knew its imper-
fections, and determined to remove them.
He foresaw that upon this foundation his
future fame would in a great measure rest,
and he determined that the superstructure
thrown up in haste, should be strengthened
and perfected at leisure. A few passages
from No. 169 will explain his sentiments on
this subject.

" Men have sometimes appeared of such
transcendent abilities, that their slightest and
most cursory performances excel all that labour
and study can enable meaner intellects to
compose : as there are regions of which the
spontaneous products cannot be equalled in
other soils by care and culture. But it is no
less dangerous for any man to place himself
in this rank of understanding, and fancy that
he is born to be illustrious witliout labour, than
to omit the cares of husbandry, and expect
from his ground the blossoms of Arabia."
" iVmong the writers of antiquity I remember
none, except Statins, who ventures to mention
the speedy production of his writings, either
as an extenuation of his fault, or as a proof
of his facility. Nor did Statins, when he
considered himself as a candidate for lasting
reputation, think a closer attention unneces-
sary, ])ut, amidst all his i)ride and indigence,
the two great hasteners of modern poems,
employed twelve years upon the Thebaid,
and thinks his claim to renown proportionate

30 HISTORICAL AND

to his labour." " To him whose eagerness of
praise hurries his productions soon into the
light, many imperfections are unavoidable,
even \\rhere the mind furnishes the materials,
as well as regulates their disposition, and
nothing depends upon search or information.
Delay opens new veins of thought, the sub-
ject dismissed for a time appears with a new
train of dependent images, the accidents of
reading or conversation supply new orna-
ments or allusions, or mere intermission of
the fatigue of thinking enables ' the mind to
collect new force, and make new excursions."
With such sentiments, it must appear at
least probable that our author would, in his
own case, endeavour to repair the mischiefs
of haste or negligence ; but as these were not
very obvious to his friends, they made no
inquiry after them, nor entertained any sus-
picion of the labour he endured to render his
wiitings more worthy of their praise ; and
when his contemporaries had departed, he
might not think it necessary to tell a new
generation that he had not reached perfection
at once. On one occasion, Mr. Boswell came
so near the question, that if Dr. Johnson had
thought it worth entering upon, he had a
very fan* opportunity. Being asked, by a lady,
whether he thought he could make his Ram-
bler better, he answered that he certainly
could. Boswell : ' I'll lay you a bet. Sir,
you cannot.' Johnson : ' But I will. Sir, if I
choose. I shall make the best of them you

BIOGRAnilCAL PREFACE. 31

shall pick out, better.' Boswcll', ' But you
may add to them, I will not allow of that.'
Johnson, ' Nay, Sir, there are three ways of
making them better ; putting out, adding, or
correcting.'

Perhaps, at this moment, Quintilian's re-
marks on correction might have occmTcd in
his memory. " Hujus operis est, adjicere,
detrahere, mutare. Sed facilius in his sim-
pliciusque judicium, qu£e replenda vel dejici-
enda sunt ; premere vero tumentia, humilia
extollere, luxuriantia astringere, inordinata
dirigere, soluta componere, exultantia co-
ercere, duplicis operae."

And these, indeed, were the instructions
he followed, but with such minute attention
to little things, such fastidious objection to
what seems orderly and harmonious, and
such copious omissions and additions as
probably never would have appeared neces-
sary to any mind but his own, and may
justify our advancing aliother passage of The
Rambler against himself : " Some seem
always to read with the microscope of criti-
cism, and employ their whole attention upon
minute elegance, or faults scarcely visible to
common observation. The dissonance of a
syllable, the recurrence of the same sound,
the repetition of a particle, the smallest de-
viation from propriety, the slightest defect in
construction or arrangement, swell before their
eyes into enormities."

These are some of the objects of his cor-

32 HISTORICAL AND

rectinghand; but, as the original folio is now
become very scarce, I shall exhibit a specimen
of the greater part of his ' various readings '
and alterations, by the transcription of a
whole paper, marking by italics the varia-
tions. This, to some, will probably be accept-
able as a literary curiosity. " Such relics
show how excellence is acquired ; what we
hope ever to do with ease, we must learn
first to do with diligence.""* This is my
sanction for exhibiting the paper in its original
state, and recommending a careful compari-
son with .the edition in these volumes, by
which it will be found as much to the honour
of his industry, as to the advantage of his
readers, that " he reformed his first thoughts
by subsequent examination ; and polished
away those faults which the precipitance of
ardent composition is likely to leave behind
it." Let me add, on the same authority, that
" to those who have skill to estimate the
excellence and difficulty of this great work,
it must be very desirable to know how it was
performed, and by what gradations it ad-
vanced to correctness. Of such an intellect-
ual process the knowledge has very rarely
been attainable ; " but, in the present case,
the discovery having once been made, it re-
quires only the trouble of collation. What
om- author has said of Pape may be applied,
with the greatest truth, to himself. " He

* Johnson's Life of Milton.

BIOGRAnilCAL TREFACE. 33

laboured his works fu'st to gain reputation, and
afterwards to keep it." " He was not content
to satisfy ; he desired to excel, and therefore
always endeavoured to do his best; he did
not court the candour, but dared the judgment
of his readers ; and, expecting no indulgence
from others, he showed none to himself. He
examined lines and words with minute and
])unctilious observation, and retouched every
part with indefatigable diligence, till he had
left nothing to be forgiven." But enough of
resemblances and authorities.

ORIGINAL llAMBLEU, No. 180.

It is somewhere related by Le Clerc, that
a wealthy trader of good understanding, hav-
ing the usual ambition to breed his son a
scholar, carried him to an university, resolv-
ing to make use of his own judgment in the
choice of a tutor. He had been taught, by
whatever intelligence, the nearest way to the
heart of an academic, and soon after his arri-
val opened his purse ivith so little reserve^ and
entertained all who came about him with
such ])rofusion of plenty^ that the Professors
were presently lured by the smell of his table
from their books, and Hocked round him with
all the importunity of aukward complaisance.
This eagerness completely answered the mer-
chant's purpose ; he glutted them with delica-
cies, he cheared them ivith tvine, he softened
them with caresses, and by des;-rces^ prevailed
upon one after anotlier to open his bosom,

VOL. XVI. 3

34 HISTORICAL AND

and make a full discovery of his schemes of
competition his alarm of jealousy and his
rancour of lesentment. Thus, after having-
long eyideavoured to learn each man's charac-
ter, partly from himself, and partly from his
acquaintances, he at last resolved to find
some other method of educatmg- his son, and
went away fully convinced that a scholastic
life has no other tendency than to vitiate the
morals, and contract the understanding. Nor
could he afterwards bear with patience the
praises of the ancient authors, being per-
suaded that scholars of all ages must have
been the same ; and that Xenophon and
Cicero were nothing more than Professors
of some former Universitv, and ivere there-
fore mean and selfish, ignorant and servile,
like those whom he had lately visited and
forsaken.

Envy, curiosity, and the sense of the im-
perfection of our present state, incline us
always to estimate the advantages which are
in the possession of others above then' real
value. Every man must have remarked, what
powers and prerogatives the vulgar imagine
to be conferred by learning. A man of science
is expected to excel the unenlightened and
unlettered, even on occasions where litera-
ture is of no use ; and, among weak minds,
loses part of his reverence by discovering no
superiority in those parts of life, in which all
are unavoidably equal ; as, when a monarch
makes a progress to the remoter provinces,

BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 35

the rustics are said sometimes to wonaer that
they find him of the same size with them-
selves.

Attempts to satisfy the demands of prejudice
and folly, are hopeless and vain, and therefore,
many of the imputations which learning suf-
fers from disappointed ignorance, are without
reproach. Nor can it be denied, that there are
some failures to which men of study are pe-
culiarly exposed. Every condition has its
disadvantages. The circle of knowledge is
too wide for the most active and diligent in-
tellect, and while some sciences are pursued
tvith ardour, others, perhaps of equal use, are
necessarili/ neglected; as a small garrison
must leave one part of an extensive fortress
naked when an alarm calls them to another.

The learned, however, might generally sup-
port their dignity with more success, if they
suft'ered not themselves to be misled by the
desire of superfluous attainments, of accom-
plishments which feio can understand, or value,
and of s/iilhvhich they may sink into the grave
tvithout any conspicuous opportunities of exert-
ing. Raphael, in return to Adam's inquiries
into the course of the stars, and the revolu-
tions of heaven, counsels him to withdraw
his mind from idle speculations, and, instead
of ivatching motions ivhich he has no power to
regulate, to employ his faculties upon nearer
and more interesting objects, the survey of
his own life, the subjection of his passions,
the knowledsre of those duties which must

36 • HISTORICAL AND

daily be performed, and the detection of tliose
dangers which must daily be incurred.

The angelic counsel every man of letters
should always have before him. He that de-
votes himself to the privacies of study, natu-
rally sinks from neglect to oblivion of social
duties, to which he must be sometimes awak-
ened and restored to the general condition of
mankind.

I am far from any intention to limit curi-
osity, or to confine the labours of learning to
arts of immediate and necessary use. It is
only from the various essays of experimental
industry, and the vague excursions of minds
sent out upon discovery, that any advance-
ment of knowledge can be expected, and
though many may labour only to be disap-
pointed, yet they are not to be charged with
having spent their time in vain ; since their
example contributed to inspirit emulation,
and, perhaps^ their miscarriages taught others
the way to success.

But the distant hope of being one day use-
ful or eminent, ought not to mislead us from
that knowledge^ which is equally requisite to
the great and mean, to the celebrated and
obscure ; the art of moderating the desires,
of repressing the appetites, and of conciliat-
ing or deserving the favour of mankind.

No man, surely^ can think the conduct of
his own life unworthy his attention, yet,
among the sons of learning, many may be
founds who seem to have thought of every

BIOGRArniOAL PREFACE. 37

thing rather than of themselves, and have
never condescended to observe ivhat passes
daily before their eyes. Men^ who, ivhile they
are toiling through the intricacy of compli-
cated systems, are insuperably embarrassed
with the least perplexity in common affairs ;
and luhile they are comparing the actions, and
ascertaining the characters of ancient heroes,
let their days glide away without examina-
tion, and suffer vicious habits to encroach
upon their minds without resistance or detec-
tion.

One o/the most frequent reproaches of the
scholastic race is the want of fortitude, of
fortitude^ not martial, but philosophic. That
men bred in shades and silence, taught to
immure themselves at sunset, and accustom-
ed to no other weapon than syllogisms, should
be easily terrified by personal danger, and
disconcerted by tumult and alarm, is by no
means ivonderful. But why should not he,
whose life is spent in contemplation, and
whose business is only to discover truth, be
able to rectify the fallacies of imagination,
and contend successfully against prejudice
and passion ? Why should he give up his
understanding to false appearances, and suf-
fer himself, like the meanest of the vulgar,
to be dazzled with the glitter of prosperity, to
be enslaved by fear of evils, to which only
folly or vanity can expose him, or elated by
hope of advantages luhich can add nothing
to a wise man, and to which, as they are

38 HISTORICAL AND

equally conferred upon the good and bad, no
real dignity is annexed.

Such, however, is the state of the world,
that the most obsequious of the slaves of
pride, the most rapturous of the gazers upon
wealth, the most officious of the whisperers
of greatness, are to he collected from these
seminaries, ivhich are appropriated to the
study of wisdom, and the contemplation of
virtue, in which it was intended, that the
appetite should learn to be content with
little, and hope to aspire to honours which
no human power can give or take away.

The student when he comes forth into the
world, instead of congratulating himself upon
his exemption from the errors and failures to
which he sees those liable whose opinions have
not been formed by precept and meditation^ is
commonly in haste to shake from him all that
distinguishes him from the rest of mankind^
to mingle with the multitude, and show his
sprightliness and ductility by an expeditious
compliance with fashions, pleasures^ or vices.
The first smile of a man whose rank or fortune
gives him power to reward his dependents,
commonly enchants him beyond resistance :
the glare of equipage, the sweets of luxury,
the liberality of general promises, and softness
of habitual affability, strike his senses^ and fill
his imagination, and he soon ceases to have
any other wish than to be well received, or
any measure of right and wrong than the
opinion of his patron.

BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 39

A man flattered and obeyed, soon learns to
exact grosser adulation, and enjoin lower sub-
mission. Neither our virtues nor vices are all
our own : if there were no cowardice, there
would be little insolence : a man cannot gi'oiv
proud to any great degree, but by the concur-
rence of blandishment, or the sufferance of
tameness. The wretch that would shrink and
crouch before hlni that should dart his eye
upon him with the spirit of natural equality,
quick/// becomes capricious and tyrannical
when he seems himself approached, with a
downcast look, and hears the soft address of
awe and servility. To the folly 0/ those who
are willing to purchase favour and preferment
by cringes and compliance, is to be imputed
that general depravity that leaves nothing to
be hoped by firmness and integrity.

If instead of wandering after the meteors of
philosophy which till the world with splendour
for a while, and then sink and are forgotten,
the candidates of learning iro^/Zc/y/.f their eyes
upon the permanent and immutable lustre of
moral truth, they would find a more certain
direction to honour and to happiness. A little
power of discourse, and a little acquaintance
with unnecessary speculation, is dearly pur-
chased when it excludes those instructions
which fortify the heart with resolution, and
exalt the spirit to independence.

The limits of this preface will not allow me
to add much to the above specimen, yet to

40 HISTORICAL AND

those who have studied the varieties of Dr.
Johnson's style at different periods of his life,
the following will appear characteristic. It is
the translation, in No. 48, from the fragment
of a Greek poet.

" Health, most venerable of the powers of
heaven ! with thee may the remaining part of
my life be spent : nor do thou refuse to cohabit
with me. For whatever there is of beauty or
of pleasure in wealth, in descendants, in sove-
reign command, the highest summit of human
enjoyment, or in those objects of desire which
we endeavour to chase into the toils of love ;
whatever delight, or whatever solace is afforded
by the celestials /or the relief of the fatigues of
man; in thy presence, thou parent of happi-
ness ! joys spread out and flourish ; in thy
presence blooms the spring of pleasure, and
without thee no man is blestJ^ In the second
edition these last words were altered to there
is no gladness, but in the thkd to no man is
happy.

The following short passage is given as
containing corrections which are not merely
verbal.

Treating of that gi-eat peculiarity of Milton's
versification, the suppression of the last sylla-
ble of a word ending with a vowel, when a
vowel begins the following word, No. 88, he
remarks ;

" This license, though an innovation in Eng-
lish poetry, is yet allowed in many other lan-
guages, ancient and modern, and therefore the

BIOGRArHICAL TREFACE. 41

critics on Paradise Lost, have, without much
deliberation, commended Milton for introduc-
ing it." Instances of this kind, however, are
very rare, the greatest proportion of alterations
being those of language.

After these extracts, which, if I do not de-
ceive myself, exhibit this writer in a character
that has, for whatever reason, escaped the in-
quiries of his biogi'aphers, little remains to be
said on the history of The Rambler. When
it had passed two or three editions, an index
was thought of, but this being a task unwor-
thy of its author's talents, who was not of the
opinion given by an old Spanish waiter — indi-
ceni libri ab autorc^ libruni ipsum a quovis alio
confide tidnm — the Rev. Mr. Flexman, an in-
dex-maker by profession, was employed. Of
his success, Mr. BosweJl has given an anecdote,
which is worth transcribing, as an additional
proof of what has been often contested, Dr.
Johnson's high veneration for Milton : —

" Johnson would sometimes found his dis-
likes on very slender circumstances. Happen-
ing one day to mention Mr. Flexman, a dis-
senting minister, with some compliment to his
exact memory in chronological matters, the
doctor repUed : ' Let me hear no more of him,
Sir ; that is the fellow who made the index
to my Ramblers, and set down the name of
Milton thus: Milton, Mr. Jolinr'

If Mr. Boswell had examined this index,
he would have discovered anotlicr gross
breach of the courtesy of literature, no less

42 HISTORICAL AND

than — Shakspeare, Mr. William; and both
have been retained in every edition, except
the present. Besides the barbarism of- any
appendage to names which are doomed, by
the general opinion of mankind, to stand alone,
Flexman, in these instances, erred against the
principles of index-making by introducing
what was not to be found in the body of the
work ; and he ought to have known that the
honours of the surname were given to Shaks-
peare and Milton at least half a century be-
fore.

The mottoes of The Rambler were translat-
ed soon after its first publication in the Gentle-
man's Magazine, partly from the Edinburgh
edition, above mentioned, partly by the author,
and partly by the Rev. F. Lewis, of Chiswick,
whom Dr. Johnson described thus, to Mr.
Ma] one : " Sir, he lived in London, and hung
loose upon society." Some of the original
mottoes were changed in the second edition
for others more appropriate.*

On the general merit of this work, it is
now unnecessary to expatiate : the prejudices
which were alarmed by a new style and man-
ner have long subsided; critics and gram-
marians have pointed out what they thought
defective, or dangerous for imitation ; and al-
though a new set of objectors have appeared

* Dr. Warton was of opinion that the mottoes prefixed to
the Ramblers and Adventurers were not very happy, and that
the attempt to translate them was absurd. Mr. Payne, the pub-
lisher, expresses the same sentiments in a letter to Dr. Warton
now before me.

BIOGRAPniCAL TREFACE. 43

since the author's death, the world has not
been much swayed in its opinions by that
hostility which is restrained until it can be
vented with impunity. The few laboured and
perhaps pedantic sentences which occur, have
been selected and repeated with incessant
malignity, but without the power of depre-
ciation ; and they who have thus found John-
son to be obscure and unintelligible, might,
with similar partiality, celebrate Shakspeare
only for his puns and his quibbles. Luckily,
however, for the taste and improvement of
the age, these objections are not very prev-
alent ; and the general opinion, founded on
actual observation, is, that although Dr. John-
son is not to be imitated with perfect success,
yet the attempt to imitate him, where it has
neither been servile nor artificial, has elevated
the style of every species of literary composi-
tion. In every thing, we perceive more vigour,
more spirit, more elegance. He not only be-
gan a revolution in our language, but lived
till it was almost completed.

With respect to the plan of The Rambler,
he may surely be said to have executed what
he intended : he has successfully attempted
the propagation of truth ; and boldly main-
tained the dignity of virtue. He has accu-
mulated in this work a treasure of moral
science, which will not be soon exhausted.
He has laboured to refine our language to
grammatical purity, and to clear it from col-
loquial barbarisms, licentious idioms, and ir-

44 HISTORICAL AND

regular combinations. Something he cer-
tainly has added to the elegance of its con-
struction, and something to the harmony of
its cadence.*

Comparisons have been formed between
The Rambler and its predecessors, or rather
between the genius of Johnson and of Addi-
son, but have generally ended in discovering
a total want of resemblance. As they were
both original writers, they must be tried, if
tried at all, by laws applicable to their respec-
tive attributes. But neither had a prede-
cessor. We can find no humour like Addi-
son's ; no energy and dignity like Johnson's.
They had nothing in common, but moral ex-
cellence of character; they could not have
exchanged styles for an hour. Yet there is
one respect in which we must give Addison
the preference, more general utility. His
writings would have been understood at any
period ; Johnson's would have, perhaps, been
unintelligible a century ago, and are calcu-
lated for the more improved and liberal edu-
cation now so common. In both, however,
what was peculiar, was natural. The earliest
of Dr. Johnson's works confirm this ; from
the moment he could write at all, he wrote in
stately periods ; and his conversation, from
first to last, abounded in the peculiarities of
his composition. In general we may say,
with Seneca, Riget ejus oratio, nihil in ea

* Kambler, last paper.

BIOGRAnilCAL PREFACE. 45

placidum, nihil lene. Addison's style was the
direct reverse of this. — If the " Lives of the
Poets" be thought an exception to Dr. John-
son's general habit of Avriting, let it be re-
membered that he was, for the most part, con-
fined to dates and facts, to illustrations and
criticisms, and quotations ; but when he in-
dulged himself in moral reflections, to which
he delighted to recur, we have again the rigor
and loftiness of The Rambler, and only miss
some of what have been termed his liard
icords.

Addison principally excelled in the obser-
vation of manners, and in that exquisite ridi-
cule he threw on the minute improprieties of
life. Johnson, although by no means igno-
rant of life and manners, could not descend
to familiarities with tuckers and commodes,
with fans and hoop-petticoats. A scholar by
profession, and a writer from necessity, he
loved to bring forward subjects so near and
dear as the disappointments of authors — the
dangers and miseries of literary eminence —
anxieties of literature — contrariety of criti-
cism — miseries of patronage — value of
fame — causes of the contempt of the learn-
ed— prejudices and caprices of criticism —
vanity of an author's expectations — mean-
ness of dedication — necessity of literary
courage ; and all those other subjects which
relate to authors and their connection with
the public. Sometimes whole j)apers are de-
voted to what may be termed the personal

46 HISTORICAL AND

concerns of men of literature ; and incidental
reflections are everywhere interspersed for the*
instruction or caution of the same class.*

When he treats of common life and man-
ners, it has been observed that he gives to
the lowest of his correspondents the same
style and lofty periods ; and it may also be
noticed, that the ridicule he attempts is, in
some cases, considerably heightened by this
very want of accommodation of character.
Yet it must be allowed that the levity and
giddiness of coquets and fine ladies are ex-
pressed with great difficulty in the Johnsonian
language. It has been objected, also, that
even the names of his ladies have very little
of the air either of court or city, as Zosima,
•Properantia, &c. Every age seems to have
its peculiar names of fiction. In the Specta-
tor's time, the Damons and Phillises, the
Amintors, Amandas, and Cleoras, &c., were
the representatives of every virtue and every
folly. These were succeeded by the Phila-
monts, Tenderillas, Timoleons, Seomanthes,
Pantheas, Adrastas, and Bellimantes ; names
to which Mrs. Heywood gave currency in her
Female Spectator ; and from which, at no
great distance of time, Dr. Johnson appears
to have taken his Zephyrettas, Trypheruses,
Nitellas, Misotheas, Vagarios, and Flirtillas.

* In No, 141, he alludes to the fatigue of the Dictionary,
which he was at that time compiling: " The rower in time
reaches the port, the lexicographer at last finds the conclusion
of his alphabet; " which, however, he did not find until three
years after this date.

BIOGRAPHICAL niEFACE. 47

His first attempt at characteristic familiar-
ity, occurs in No. 12, in a letter from a young
girl, who wants a place ; and, in my opinion,
it is the most successful ; the style is seldom
turgid, and it has a considerable portion of
humour; a quality in which it is now acknow-
ledged Dr. Johnson excelled, although one of
his biographers seems to think he did not
know it.* It was a considerable time before
I was fully convinced that Dr. Johnson wrote
this letter, so little appears of his usual man-
ner : it attacks a species of cruelty which he
could not often have witnessed; and when
he came to revise the original Ramblers, he
made fewer alterations in this, than in any
other ; a delicacy which he always observed
with regard to his correspondents. But the
paper is undoubtedly his, and evinces an ac-
curate observation of common life.

With respect to humour, the following pa-
pers may be enumerated, as pregnant proofs
that he possessed that quality : No. 46, on
the mischiefs of rural faction ; 51, on the
employments of a housewife in the country ;
59, Suspirus, or the human screech-owl, from
which Dr. Goldsmith took his character of
Croaker ; 61, a Londoner's visit to the coun-
try; 73, the lingering expectation of an heir;
82, the virtuoso's account of his rarities ;
101, a proper audience necessary to a wit;
113, 115, history of Hymenoeus's courtship;

* Murphy, p. 159.

48 HISTORICAL AND

116, the young trader's attempt at polite-
ness ; 117, the advantages of living in a gar-
ret ; 119, Tranquilla's account of her lovers ;
123, the young trader turned gentleman ; 138,
the character of Mrs. Busy ; 141, the charac-
ter of Papilius ; 157, the scholar's complaint
of his own bashfulness ; 161, the revolutions
of a garret ; 165, the impotence of wealth,
the visit of Serotinus to the place of his na-
tivity ; 177, an account of a club of antiqua-
ries ; 192, love unsuccessful without riches ;
197, 198, the history of a legacy-hunter ; 200,
Asper's complaint of the insolence of Pros-
pero ; and 206, the art of living at the cost
of others. If these papers are not allowed
to contain humour, if the characters are not
drawn and the stories related with that qual-
ity which forces a smile at the expense of
absurdity, and delights the imagination by
the juxtaposition of unexpected images and
allusions, it will be ditlicult to say where
genuine humour is to be found. If it has not
the ease, and sometimes the good-nature of
Addison, this is saying no more than that it
is not Addison's humour : neither is it that
of Swift or Arbuthnot. This does not take
from its originality, nor weaken the influence
it produces upon contempt, the passion to
which humour more particularly addresses
itself. It ought to be observed, also, that
the greater part of the subjects enumerated
above are new in the history of Essay-writ-
ing ; and the few that were touched by for-

BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 49

mer writers, such as the vh*tuoso's rarities,
recommend themselves to the fancy by new
combinations and sportive jfictions.

But the religious and moral tendency of
The Rambler, is, after all, its principal excel-
lence, and what entitles it to a higher praise
than can be earned by the powers of wit, or
of criticism. On subjects connected with
the true interests of man, what our author
has said of Goldsmith, may with, much more
truth be applied to himself. Nullum quod
tetig-it non ornavit. If we do not discover in
his essays, the genius which invents, we have
a wonderful display of those powers of mind
which, second only to the genius of the poet,
most happily illustrate, and almost instantly
strike conviction. Whatever position Dr.
Johnson lays down, is laid down with irre-
sistible force ; it is not new, but we wonder
that we have before heard it with indilfer-
ence ; it is, perhaps, familiar, and yet we
receive it with the welcome of a discovery.
Whatever virtue he praises, receives dignity
and strength ; and whatever vice he exposes,
becomes more odious and coiitemptil^le. To
select examples from a work so well known,
would be superfluous ; yet, one paper, No.
148, on parental cruelty, which has not gen-
erally been pointed out by his critics, has ever
appeared to me preeminent in every grace of
moral expostulation. Men who have not seen
much ol" life, and who believe cautiously of
hum:in depravity, cannot think it possible

v«;l. xvi. 4

50 HISTORICAL AND

that such a paper should ever be read with-
out improvement ; yet, without any very ex-
tensive knowledge of what is daily passing
in the world, we may be allowed to assert,
with the author, that there are some on whom
its persuasions may be lost. " He that can
bear to give continual pain to those who sur-
round him, and can walk with satisfaction
in the gloom of his own presence ; he that
can see submissive misery without relenting,
and meet, without emotion, the eye that im-
plores mercy, or demands justice, will scarcely
be amended by remonstrance or admonition ;
he has found means of stopping the avenues
of tenderness, and arming his heart against
the force of reason."

Instances might be multiplied, in which
common truths, and common maxims, are
supported by an eloquence nowhere else to be
found ; and in which the principles of human
nature are explained with a facility and truth
which could result only from what appears
to have been the author's favourite study, the
study of the heart. Yet this distinguishing
characteristic of The Rambler, added to a
style by no means familiar, may have rendered
it a less agreeable companion to a very nu-
merous class of readers than other works of
the kind. It is certainly not a book for the
uneducated part of the world, nor for those
who, whatever their education, read only for
their amusement. In the comparison of
books with men, it may be said that The

BIOGRAPHICAL TREFACE. 51

Rambler is one of those which are, at first,
repulsive, but which grow upon us on a
fui'ther acquaintance. Accordingly, those who
have read it oftenest, are most sensible of its
excellence : it will not please, at first sight,
nor suit the gay, who wish to be amused, nor
the superficial, who cannot command atten-
tion. It is to be studied, as well a*s read ;
and the few objections that have been made
to it, would have probably been retracted, if
the objectors had returned frequently to the
work, and examined whether the author had
preferred any claims which could not fairly be
granted. It cannot be too often repeated
that The Rambler is not a work to be hastily
laid aside ; and that they, who, from the
apparent difficulties of style and manner,
have been led to study it attentively, have
been amply rewarded by the discovery of
new beauties ; and have been ready to con-
fess, what it would be now extremely diffi-
cult to disprove, that literature, as well as
morals, owes the greatest obligations to this
writer ; and that since the work became pop-
ular, every thing in literature or morals, in
history or dissertation, is better conceived,
and better expressed, — conceived with more
novelty, and expressed with greater energy.

One objection, ind(;ed, remains to be con-
sidered, which is common with the friends, as
well as the enemies of this writer — the melan-
choly picture he everywhere exliil)its of human
existence. " He had penetration enough to

52 HISTORICAL AND

see," says Mr. Boswell, " and seeing would
not disguise the general misery of man in this
state of being, and this may have given rise to
the superficial notion of his being too stern a
philosopher. But men of reflection will be
sensible that he has given a true representa-
tion of human existence, and that he has, at
the sarrie time, with a generous benevolence,
displayed every consolation which our state
affords us, not only those arising from the
hopes of futurity, but such as may be attained
in the immediate progress through life." The
latter part of this opinion may be conceded ;
indeed, Dr. Johnson's most gloomy thoughts
are so generally followed by consolation, that
perhaps no great evil can arise from his dwel-
ling so frequently on the melancholy side of
human life ; yet, I am none of those " men
of reflection" who think he has given " a true
representation of human life." In writing the
papers alluded to, it is evident he was describ-
ing his own feelings and state, and that his
resources were not the observation of what
was passing around him, but that morbid
melancholy which domineered over his body
and mind, and dictated at this time, the reflec-
tions which he was fond to indulge in soli-
tude and silence, and often amidst poverty,
and sickness, and neglect. That he was de-
picting his own mind, must be obvious now,
when the world knows so much of his history ;
and that he was conscious his feelings might
betray him into exaggeration, is evident from

BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 53

the conclusion of many of his papers, in which,
by way of consolation, he almost refutes his
former positions. Nay, he could sometimes
laugh at his prevailing propensity. In No.
109, in the character of a correspondent, he
has, perhaps, said all that his enemies could
wish to say on the subject : " Whether it be
that continued sickness or misfortune, has
acquainted you only with the bitterness of
being ; or that you imagine none but yourself
able to discover what I suppose has been seen
and felt by all the inhabitants of the world ;
whether you intend your writings as antido-
tal to the levity and merriment with, which
your rivals endeavour to attract the favour of
the public ; or fancy that you have some par-
ticular powers of dolorous declamation, and
warble out your groans with uncommon ele-
gance or energy ; it is certain that whatever
be your subject, melancholy for the most part,
bursts in upon your speculation, your gayety
is quickly overcast, and though your readers
may be flattered with hopes of pleasantry,
they are seldom dismissed but with heavy
hearts. That I may, therefore, gratify you
with an imitation of your own syllables of
sadness, I will inform you," &c. Thus hu-
morously could he play with his own failing,
in more happy and social intervals.

These gloomy representations appear to
have arisen })artly from his not having distin-
guished between the avoidable and unavoid-
able miseries of life; if these are combined,

54 HISTORICAL AND

our state will appear wretched indeed, and
we " sorrow as those who have no hope ;" if,
to the dispensations of Providence, we add
the crimes and folUes of mankind, we place
ourselves in a situation in which there is no
remedy, and from which there is no escape.
Another reason for his frequent unfavourable
opinions of existence may perhaps be traced
to his not entertaining very clear views of
revealed religion. Yet, even when somewhat
of this darkness and distrust is visible, he
seems to shrink from it, and to recommend to
his readers, and to repose himself in the con-
solations of Faith and Hope, to pray for good.

But leave to Heaven the measure and the ehoice.

Sentiments like these, form the conclusion
of his most unfavourable reflections on " the
bitterness of being," such is the difference
between feeling and thinking, and act as an
antidote to any supposed mischief that can
arise from following his gloomy train of
thought ; while, on the other hand, his reflec-
tions may be considered as beneficial in pro-
portion to their tendency to anticipate the
disappointments of persons of sanguine tem-
pers and credulous affections.

From his private history, his opinions may
now be gathered without disguise ; and will
appear to be, as already observed, frequently
dictated by a mind ill at ease, conflicting with
a body of distemper, for which no relief could
be found, yet occasionally cheered by pros-

BIOGRAPHICAL TREFACE. 55

porous events, and always susceptible of the
pleasures of social life. His complaints were
those of the individual, rather than of the
species. Had he seen all around him as un-
happy as himself, he would not so frequently
have fled into company as a relief for his pri-
vate anxieties. There was this singularity,
indeed, in his dislike of life, that it never
drove him into retirement, which he wrote
and inveiofhed aorainst with vehemence. And
although he indulged melancholy views of
existence, for which he was conscious an
apology might be found in his unhappy con-
stitution of body, he would check a similar
disposition in others, when he had reason to
suspect that its source was affectation and not
suffering. This habit, which some men con-
tract as they contract other affected ha])its, to
draw attention, he, on one occasion, calls " a
hypocrisy of misery."

Of Dr. Johnson's life and character more
is known than ever was known of any man.
INIr. Boswell has exhibited a more ffnished
picture than the utmost ardour of curiosity
could have hoped. This ingenious biographer
has proved, contrary to the common opinion,
and by means which will not soon be repeat-
ed, that the life of a mere scholar may be ren-
dered more instructive, more entertaining, and
more interesting, than that of any other iunnan
being. And ah hough the "conlidcnc*' of pri-
vate conversation" has been thouglit to be
sometimes violated in this work, for w hich no

56 HISTORICAL AND

apology is here intended, yet the world seems
agreed to forgive this failing in consideration
of the pleasure it has afforded ; that wonder-
ful variety of subjects, of wit, sentiment, and
anecdote, with which it abounds ; and above
all, the valuable instruction it presents on
many of the most important duties of life. It
must be allowed that it created some enemies
to Dr. Johnson, among those who were not
enemies before this disclosure of his senti-
ments. Vanity has been sometimes hurt, and
vanity has taken its usual revenge. It is
generally agi'eed, however, that Mr. Boswell's
account of his illustrious friend is impartial :
he conceals no failing that revenge or ani-
mosity has since been able to discover; aU
his foibles of manner and conversation are
faithfully recorded, and recorded so frequently
that it is easier for a stranger to form a j ust
estimate of Dr. Johnson than of any emi-
nent character in the whole range of bio-
graphy.

To some, and particularly to the wits, Mr.
Boswell's minuteness has afforded a topic of
ridicule, and this ridicule may be indulged
without any injury to the great object of the
work. The world would not have sunk in
darkness, if it had not been told how Dr.
Johnson pared his nails, and scraped the joints
of his fingers — what he paid for an ounce of
vitriol; in what estimation he held Bologna
sausages ; or what he did with squeezed
oran£:es. Some of Mr. Boswell's illustrations

BIOGRAPUICAL TREFACE. 57

may have likewise provoked a smiie; and the
following was probably never read without
one : —

" Talking of shaving the other night, at Dr.
Taylor's, Dr. Johnson said : ' Sk, of a thou-
sand shavers, two do not shave so much alike
as not to be distinguished.' I (Mr. Boswell)
thought this not possible, till he specified so
many of the varieties in shaving : holding
the razor more or less perpendicular ; draw-
ing long or short strokes ; beginning at the
upper part of the face, or the under ; at the
right side or the left side. Lideed, when one
considers what variety of sounds can be utter-
ed by the ivindpipe^ in the compass of a very
small aperture, ive may be convinced how many
degrees of ditierence there may be in the ap-
plication of a razor ! " Never, surely, was
there a more ludicrous combination. What
could have been passing in the mind of this
lively writer when he seriously brought the
skill of a shaver, or " a thousand shavers," into
comparison with that mysterious work of na-
ture, the human voice ? But these harmless
foibles may be pardoned in one who at an
early age had the sense and virtue to attach
himself to such a man as Dr. Johnson, and to
collect his colloquial wit and wisdom, with a
foresight that they would one day be read
with as nmch avidity as they were accumu-
lated; and that the most distinguished char-
^ acters of the age would be happy to con-
tribute to this monument in honour of one

58 HISTORICAL AND

whom they esteemed " the brightest ornament
of the eighteenth century."*

The failing in Dr. Johnson's character,
which has been held iip by his enemies in the
strongest light, was the roughness of his tem-
per. But this has been the favourite topic of
objection and reproach chiefly with those who
did not know, or were unwilling to confess,
that it was more than balanced by a gentle-
ness and tenderness of heart, by a most friendly
disposition, and by a love of society and so-
cial habits, such as seldom are combined in
the same character. For his occasional rude-
nesses many excuses may be ofl'ered ; Mi*.
Boswell's candour has not suffered him to
conceal the hest^ when he says that he was too
easily provoked by " absurdity and folly."
Much of his peevishness evidently arose from
the ill-timed and ridiculous questions put to
him by some of his visitors. They considered
him as a man who was never to sit silent,
never to give place to the conversation of oth-
ers, but to be perpetually interrogated about
every thing and by everybody, that every-
body might go away and report in their circle
what they said to Johnson, and what John-
son said to them. Whether well or ill, mel-
ancholy or cheerful, he was thus perpetually
goaded and pricked, perpetually dragged into
opinions which were sometimes inconsistent,
and forced to make replies which were some-

■* Mr. Malone's Preface to his Edition of Shalcspeare.

BIOGRAPHICAL IMIEFACE. 59

times rude and angry. When these cases oc-
cur, and many of them are very obvious in
Mr. Boswell's work, they may surely " be pas-
sed over as the involuntary blows of a man
agitated by the spasms of a convulsion." *
For although, when deprived of patience by
teasing impertinence, his learning only con-
ferred " that superiority which swells the heart
of the lion in the desert, where he roars with-
out reply, and ravages without resistance," f
yet when treated ^vith the respect due to him,
and in the company where respect was recip-
rocal, a "little child might lead him."

So many instances are given of the warmth
of his friendship, and the tenderness of his
heart, that it would be difficult to produce the
name of a man who possessed these virtues,
but especially the last, in higher perfection.
It is well known that he gave a fourth part, at
least, of his income in charity, and his charity
was of no common kind. It was such as we
may say, without hazard of contradiction,
few philanthropists would have courage or
patience to imitate. Not content with be-
stowing his alms on the casual poor, he col-
lected objects from the distressed of his ac-
quaintance, received them into his house, as
soon as he was rich enough to be master of
a house, and gave them that shelter and as-
sistance which scarcely any man thinks him-
self obliged to give, unless to those who are

* Rambler, No. 11. f Rambler, No 72.

60 HISTOEICAL AND

connected by the nearer ties of blood. Dr. John-
son had no choice in the selection of the ob-
jects of this domestic charity, but their suffer-
ings ; to be poor and needy was sufficient
recommendation ; and to be peevish, discon-
tented, and ungrateful, was neither a bar to
their reception, nor a plea for dismissing them.
He literally fed and supported a set of objects
who were torments to him by their evil and
unthankful tempers ; who sometimes drove
him from his home to seek relief in company,
and always made it, in a certain degree, un-
comfortable. Yet this never stinted the meas-
ure of his kindness ; in answer to any sugges-
tions that might be offered by his friends on
this subject, he had a ready answer, honour-
able to his head and heart : " If I dismiss
them, who will take them in ? " Out of the
many instances upon record of this rigorous
charity, the following may be selected as an
eminent, and almost matchless, proof of ten-
derness of heart, and of the unwearied desire
he had to administer those comforts to others
which he frequently wanted himself. It is
related by him in a private letter : " Mrs.
Williams is in the country to try if she can
improve her health ; she is very ill. Matters
have come so about, that she is in the coun-
try with very good accommodation ; but age.
and sickness, and pride, have made her so
peevish, that I was forced to bribe the maid
to stay with her, by a secret stipulation of
half a crown a week over her wages."

BlOGRArniCAL PREFACE. 61

Such was the man whom some have re-
viled for his rudeness and his petulance, and,
by repeating a single anecdote to his disad-
vantage, have multiplied it in imagination to
a thousand ; and have concluded, contrary to
all evidence, that his whole conversation was
repulsive, and his whole conduct unsocial.
Yet, during his long life, no man's company
was more courted by persons distinguished
for genius or rank ; and those who knew him
most intimately held him in the highest ven-
eration. Such respect, paid by all who were
admitted into his society, must have had a solid
foundation ; and, without the knowledge we
have now acquired of him, we must have
looked upon that man as elevated beyond the
common order, who could procure such es-
teem, and preserve such attachments. And
elevated he certainly was, by morals, genius,
and wisdom. With all his defects, not a sin-
gle vice has been imputed to him ; while he
is allowed to have possessed every virtue in
principle, and, as far as his limited means
permitted, to have excelled in the practice.
Every man who knew him was made wiser
and better by the association ; nor will it ever
be forgotten that, in his presence, neither
wealtli nor rank could protect those who
dared to utter the lansfuac^e of irreliij^ion or
licentiousness.

His conversation abounded in information;
on every topic of tlie most trillini^ kind he
threw a new light ; and many who tliought

62 HISTORICAL AND

they had settled thek opinions, were surprised
when, by some unexpected illustration, he
proved that they had overlooked the point on
which, the whole depended. By a habit he
appears to have early acquired of considering
a question in every possible view, he was
sometimes ready to take either side, and for
the sake of contest or information, to argue
contrary to his real opinion. This gave to
conversation the spur and variety in which he
delighted, but never was allowed to interfere
with his perceptive duties ; when he wrote for
the public, he supported religion and morality
upon their genuine principles, and delivered
the sentiments which he honestly believed
were the best calculated to promote the inte-
rests of truth and virtue. Indeed, few men
have more strictly adhered to truth on every
occasion. His reverence for it was such that
he never lost sight of its obligations in the
most minute occurrences, and did not scruple
to check the lax vivacity of his intimate
friends, and those to whom he was most in-
debted.

It is, however, far from our intention to
exhibit him as a perfect character. Such
praise is foolishly given to man in this state
of being ; nor is it necessary to attribute
more to him than he claimed for himself.
Compared to men in general, with regard to
literary accomplishments, he was entitled to
a just superiority, and he was conscious of

BIOGRAPHICAL TREFACE. G3

it ; and what man has ever excelled without
being conscious of it ? But it is hoped none
will look upon him with less reverence, when
they behold him as a fallible and peccant
being, as a dependent creature entreating
Heaven for grace and support ; humble and
lowly ; full of acknowledgments of defects and
weaknesses ; penitent and sorrowful for his
many infirmities ; thankful for the mercies he
had received ; earnest in employing the means
of grace ; and fervently anxious for the hopes
of glory. His " Prayers and Meditations "
thus exhi])it his mind continually struggling
with imperfections, and continually suppli-
cating for help where only it can be found ;
lamenting the loss of time, and undervaluing
what he had done, like Grotius, who, at the
close of life, exclaimed, Heu ! vitam perdidi,
operose nihil ai^endo.

But the world has agreed to think more
highly of the public services of Dr. Johnson,
and to rank him among the most illustrious
writers of any age or nation, and among the
benefactors to religion, virtue, and learning.
Nor can these desultory thoughts on his char-
acter be concluded in more appropriate terms
than the pathetic tribute paid by an eminent
friend * on the occasion of his death : " He

* Boswell's Life, vol. iii. p. 700. Mr. Roswell lias not <i;iven
the name of this eminent friend. Mr. liurke was suspected by
me; but I learn since that it was William Gerrard ilamilton,
usually called Single-speech Ilamilton.

64 HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE.

has made a chasm, which not only nothing
can fill up, but which nothing has a tendency
to fill up. Johnson is dead. Let us go to
the next best : There is nobody ; no man can
be said to put you in mind of Johnson."

THE RAMBLER.

No. 1. TUESDAY, MARCH 20, 1749-50.

Cur tamen hoc libeat pothis decurrere campo,
Pti' qutin maipius eqtios Aurumce Jlexit alumnus,
Si vacat, et placidi rationem admittitis, edam.

juv. SAT. i. 19. *

Why to expatiate in this beaten field,

Wliy arms oft used in vain I mean to wield;

If time permit, and candour will attend,

Some satisfaction this essay may lend. elpiiinston.

Thp: difficulty of the first address on any new oc-
casion, is felt by every man in his transactions with
the world, and confessed by the settled and regular
forms of salutation which necessity has introduced
into all languages. Judgment was wearied with the
perplexity of being forced upon choice, where there
was no motive to preference, and it was found con-
venient that some •easy method of introduction
should be established, which, if it wanted the al-
lun-ment of novelty, might enjoy the security of
pres(MM{)tion.

Perhaps few authors have presented themselves
before the [)ublic, without wishing that such cere-
monial modes of entrance had been anciently estab-
lished, as might have freed them from those dangers

VOL. XVI. 5

66 RAMBLER. NO. 1.

which the desire of pleasing is certain to produce,
and precluded the vain expedients of softening
censure by apologies, or rousing attention by ab-
ruptness.

The epic writers have found the proemial part of
the poem such an addition to their undertaking, that
they have almost unanimously adopted the first lines
of Homer, and the reader needs only be informed
of the subject, to know in what manner the poem
will begin.

But this solemn repetition is hitherto the peculiar
distinction of heroic poetry ; it has never been le-
gally extended to the lower orders of literature, but
seems to be considered as an hereditary privilege,
to be enjoyed only by those who claim it from their
alliance to the genius of Homer.

The rules which the injudicious use of this prero-
gative suggested to Horace, may, indeed, be applied
to the direction of candidates for inferior fame ; it
may be proper for all to remember, that they ought
not to raise expectation which it is not in their
power to satisfy, and that it is more pleasing to see
smoke brightening into flame, than flame sinking
into smoke.

This precept has been long received, both from
regard to the authority of Horace, and its conformity
to the general opinion of the world ; yet there have
been always some, that thought it no deviation from
modesty to recommend their ^wn labours, and ima-
gined themselves entitled by indisputable merit to
an exemption from general restraints, and to eleva-
tions not allowed in common life. They, perhaps,
believed, that when, like Thucydides, they be-
queathed to mankind uTtJiia eg ael, ' an estate forever,'
it was an additional favour to inform them of its
value.

KO. 1. RAMBLER. 67

It may, indeed, be no less dangerous to claim, on
certain occasions, too little than too much. There
is something captivating in spirit and intrepidity, to
which we often yield, as to a resistless power ; nor
can he reasonably expect the confidence of others,
who too apparently distrusts himself

Plutarch, in his enumeration of the various occa-
sions on which a man may, without just offence, pro-
claim his own excellences, has omitted the case of
an author entering the world ; unless it may be com-
prehended under his general position, that a man
may lawfully praise himself for those qualities which
cannot be known but from his own mouth ; as when
he is among strangers, and can have no opportunity
of an actual exertion of his powers. That the case
of an author is parallel will scarcely be granted, be-
cause he necessarily discovers the degree of his
merit to his judges, when he appears at his trial.
But it should be remembered, that unless his judges
are inclined to favour him, they will hardly be per-
siuided to hear tiie cause.

In love, the state which fills the heart with a de-
gree of solicitude next that of an author, it has been
held a maxim, that success is most easily obtained
by indirect and unperceived approaches ; he who too
soon professes himself a lover, raises obstacles to
his own wishes, and those whom disappointments
have taught experience, endeavour to conceal their
passion till they believe their mistress wishes for the
discovery. The same method, if it were practicable
to writers, would save many complaints of the se-
verity of the age, and the caprices of criticism. If
a man could glide imperceptibly into the favour of
the public, and only proclaim his pretensions to
literary honours when he is sure of not being re-
jected, he might commence author with better hopes,

68 RAMBLER. NO. 1.

as his failings might escape contempt though he
shall never attain much regard.

But since the world supposes every man that
writes ambitious of applause, as some ladies have
taught themselves to believe that every man intends
love, who expresses civility, the miscarriage of any
endeavour in learning raises an unbounded contempt,
indulged by most minds without scruple, as an
honest triumph over unjust claims and exorbitant
expectations. The artifices of those who put them-
selves in this hazardous state, have, therefore, been
multiplied in proportion to their fear as well as their
ambition ; and are to be looked upon with more in-
dulgence, as they are incited at once by the two
great movers of the human mind, the desire of good,
and the fear of evil. For who can wonder that,
allured on one side, and frightened on the other,
some should endeavour to gain favour by bribing
the judge with an appearance of respect which they
do not feel, to excite compassion by confessing weak-
ness of which they are not convinced, and others to
attract regard by a show of openness and magnani-
mity, by a daring profession of their own deserts,
and a public challenge of honours and rewards ?

The ostentatious and haughty display of them-
selves has been the usual refuge of diurnal writers,
in vindication of whose practice it may be said, that
what it wants in prudence is supplied by sincerity,
and who at least may plead, that if their boasts de-
ceive any into the perusal of their performances,
they defraud them of but little time : —

— Quid enim ? Concurritur : horce
Momento ciia mors venit, aut victoria Iceta.

HOR. SAT. i. 1. 7.

The battle join, and, in a moment's flight,

Death, or a joyful conquest, ends the fight. francis.

NO. 1. RAMBLER. 69

The question concerning the merit of the day is
soon decided, and we are not condemned to toil
through half a folio, to be convinced that the writer
has broke his promise.

It is one among many reasons for which I pur-
pose to endeavour the entertainment of my country-
men by a short essay on Tuesday and Saturday,
that I liope not much to tire those whom I shall not
happen to please ; and if I am not commended for
the beauty of my works, to be at least pardoned for
their brevity. But whether my expectations are
most fixed on pardon or praise, I think it not neces-
sary to discover; for having accurately weighed the
reasons for arrogance and submission, I find them
so nearly equiponderant, that my impatience to try
the event of my first performance will not suffer
me to attend my longer the trepidations of the
balance.

There are, indeed, many inconveniencies almost
peculiar to this method of publication, which may
naturally flatter the author, whether he be confident
or timorous. The man to whom the extent of his
knowledge, or the sprightliness of his imagination,
has, in his own opinion, already secured the praises
of the world, willingly takes that way of displaying
his abilities which will soonest give him an opportu-
nity of hearing the voice of fame ; it heightens his
alacrity to think in how mapy places he shall hear
of what he is now writing, read with ecstasies to-
morrow. He will often please himself with reflect-
ing, that the author of a large treatise must proceed
with anxiety, lest, before the completion of his work,
the attention of the public may have changed its
object ; but that he who is confined to no single
topic, may follow the natiojial taste through all its

70 RAMBLER. NO. 1.

variations, and catch the aura pojniJaris, the gale
of favour, from what point soever it shall blow.

Nor is the prospect less likely to ease the doubts
of the cautious, and the terrors of the fearful ; for to
such the shortness of every single paper is a power-
ful encouragement. He that questions his abilities
to arrange the dissimilar parts of an extensive plan,
or fears to be lost in a complicated system, may yet
hope to adjust a few j)ages without perplexity; and
if, when he turns over the repositories of his mem-
ory, he finds his collection too small for a volume,
he may yet have enough to furnish out an essay.
He that would fear to lay out too much time upon
an experiment of which he knows not the event,
persuades himself that a few days will show him
what he is to expect from his learning and his
genius. If he thinks his own judgment not suffi-
ciently enlightened, he may, by attending the re-
marks which every paper will produce, rectify his
opinions. If he should, with too little premeditation,
incumber himself by an unwieldy subject, he can
quit it without confessing his ignorance, and pass to
other topics less dangerous, or more tractable. And
if he finds, with all his industry, and all his artifices,
that he cannot deserve regard, or cannot attain it,
he may let the design fall at once, and, without in-
jury to others or himself, retire to amusements of
greater pleasure, or to studies of better prospect.

NO. 2. RAMBLER. 71

No. 2. SATURDAY, MARCH 24, 1749-50.

Stare loco nescit, pereunt vestigia mille

Ante fugam, absentemque J'erit gi'avis ungula canipum.

STATIUS.

Til' impatient courser pants in every vein,

And pawing seems to beat the distant plain;

Hills, vales, and floods, appear already crost,

And, ere he starts, a thousand steps are lost. pope.

That the mind of man is never satisfied with the
objects immediately before it, but is always breaking
away from the present moment, and losing itself in
schemes of future felicity ; and that we forget the
proper use of the time, now in our power, to provide
for the enjoyment of that which, perhaps, may never
be granted us, has been frequently remarked ; and
as this practice is a commodious subject of raillery
to the gay, and of declamation to the serious, it has
been ridiculed, with all the pleasantry of wit, and
exaggerated with all the amplifications of rhetoric.
Every instance, by which its absurdity might ai)pear
most flagrant, has been studiously collected ; it has
been marked with every epithet of contempt, and
all the tropes and figures have been called forth
against it.

Censure is willingly indulged, because it always
implies some superiority : men ])lease themselves
with imagining that they have made a deeper search,
or wider survey, than others, and detected faults
and follies, which escape vulgar observation: And
the pleasure of wantoning in common to[)ics is so

72 RAMBLER. NO. 2.

tempting to a writer, that he cannot easily resign
it ; a train of sentiments generally received enables
him to shine without labour, and to conquer without
a contest. It is so easy to laugh at the folly of him
who lives only in idea, refuses immediate ease for
distant pleasures, and, instead of enjoying the bless-
ings of life, lets life glide away in preparations to
enjoy them ; it affords such opportunities of trium-
phant exultation, to exemplify the uncertainty of the
human state, to rouse mortals from their dream,
and inform them of the silent celerity of time, that
w^e may believe authors willing rather to transmit
than examine so advantageous a principle, and
more inclined to pursue a tract so smooth and so
flowery, than attentively to consider whether it leads
to truth.

This quality of looking forward into futurity seems
the unavoidable condition of a being, whose motions
are gradual, and whose life is progressive : as his
powers are limited, he must use means for the at-
tainment of his ends, and intend first what he per-
forms last ; as by continual advances from his first
stage of existence, he is perpetually varying the
horizon of his prospects, he must always discover
new motives of action, new excitements of fear, and
allurements of desire.

The end, therefore, which at present calls forth
our efforts, will be found, when it is once gained, to
be only one of the means to some remoter end. The
natural flights of the human mind are not from
pleasure to pleasure, but from hope to hope.

He that directs his steps to a certain point, must
frequently turn his eyes to that place which he
strives to reach ; he that undergoes the fatigue of
labour, must solace his weariness with the contem-
plation of its reward. In agriculture, one of the

NO. 2. RAMBLER. 73

most simple and necessary employments, no niau
turns up the ground but because he thinks of tiie
liarvest, that harvest which blights may intercept,
which inundations may sweep away, or which death
or calamity may hinder him from reaping.

Yet, as few maxims are widely received or long
retained but for some conformity with truth and na-
ture, it must be confessed, that this caution against
keeping our view too intent upon remote advantages
is not without its propriety or usefulness, though it
may have been recited with too much levity, or en-
forced with too little distinction ; for, not to speak of
that vehemence of desire which presses through right
and wrong to its gratification, or that anxious in-
quietude which is justly chargeable with distrust of
Heaven, subjects too solemn for ray present pur-
pose ; it frequently happens that, by indulging early
the raptures of success, we forget the measures ne-
cessary to secure it, and suffer the imagination to
riot in the fruition of some possible good, till the
time of obtaining it has slipped away.

There would, however, be few enterprises of great
labour or hazard undertaken, if we had not the power
of magnifying the advantages which we persuade
ourselves to expect from them. When the knight
of La Mancha gravely recounts to his com{)anioa
the adventures by which he is to signalize himself
in such a manner that he shall be summoned to the
support of empires, solicited to accept the heiress of
the crown which he has preserved, have honours
and riches to scatter about him, and an island to
bestow on his worthy squire,- very few readers,
amidst their mirth or pity, can deny that they have
admitted visions of the same kind; though they
have not, jjcrhaps, expected events e(|ually strange,
or by means e<[ually inadequate. AVhen we pity

74 RAMBLER. NO. 2.

him, we reflect on our own disappointments ; and
when we laugh, our hearts inform us that he is not
more ridiculous than ourselves, except that he tells
what we have only thought.

The understanding of a man naturally sanguine,
may, indeed, be easily vitiated by the luxurious in-
dulgence of hope, however necessary to the produc-
tion of every thing great or excellent, as some plants
are destroyed by too open exposure to that sun
which gives life and beauty to the vegetable world.

Perhaps no class of the human species requires
more to be cautioned against this anticipation of
happiness, than those that aspire to the name of
authors. A man of lively fancy no sooner finds a
hint moving in his mind, than he makes momen-
taneous excursions to the press, and to the world,
and, with a little encouragement from flattery, pushes
forward into future ages, and prognosticates the
honours to be paid him, when envy is extinct, and
faction forgotten, and those, whom partiality now
suffers to obscure him, shall have given way to the
triflers of as short duration as themselves.

Those, who have proceeded so far as to appeal to
the tribunal of succeeding times, are not likely to
be cured of their infatuation ; but all endeavours
ought to be used for the prevention of a disease, for
which, when it has attained its height, perhaps no
remedy will be foiind in the gardens of philosophy,
however she may boast her physic of the mind, her
cathartics of vice, or lenitives of passion.

I shall, therefore, while I am yet but lightly
touched with the symptoms of the writer's malady,
endeavour to fortify myself against the infection, not
without some weak hope, that my preservatives may
extend their virtue to others, whose employment ex-
poses them to the same danger : —

NO. 2. RAMBLER. 70

Laudis amove fumes f Sunt ceria piacula, quce te
Tev pure kcto poterunt recreare libello.

IIOR. EPIST. i. 1. 30.

Is fame your passion ? Wisdom's powerful chann,

If thrice read over, shall its force disarm, fkancis.

It is the sage advice of Epictetus, that a man
should accustom himself often to think of what is
most shocking and terrible, that by such reflections
he may be preserved from too ardent wishes for
seeming good, and from too much dejection in real
evil.

There is nothing more dreadful to an author than
neglect, compared with which re[)roach, hatred, and
opposition, are names of happiness ; yet this worst,
this meanest fate, every one who dares to write has
reason to fear.

I nunc, et versus tecum meditare canoros.

HOR. EPIST. ii. 2. 76.

Go now, and meditate thy tuneful lays.

ELPHINSTON.

It may not be unfit for him who makes a new en-
trance into the lettered world, so far to suspect his
own powers, as to believe that he possibly may de-
serve neglect ; that nature may not have qualified
him much to enlarjTe or embellish knowledjjje, nor
sent iiim forth entitled by indisputable superiority to
regulate the conduct of the rest of mankind ; that,
though the world must be granted to be yet in
ignorance, he is not destined to dispel the cloud,
nor to shine out as one of the luminaries of life.
For this suspicion, every catalogue of a library will
furnish sufficient reason ; as he will find it crowded
with names of men, who, though now forgotten, were
once no less enterprising or conlideiit than himself.

76 RAMBLER. NO. 2.

equally pleased with their own productions, equally
caressed by their patrons, and flattered by their
friends.

But, though it should happen that an author is
capable of excelling, yet his merit may pass with-
out notice, huddled In the variety of things, and
thrown Into the general miscellany of life. He that
endeavours after fame by writing, solicits the regard
of a multitude fluctuating In pleasures, or Immersed
in business, without time for Intellectual amuse-
ments : he appeals to judges prepossessed by pas-
sions, or corrupted by prejudices, which preclude
their approbation of any new performance. Some
are too Indolent to read any thing, till its reputation
is established : others too envious to promote that
fame which gives them pain by Its Increase. What
is new Is opposed, because most are unwilling to be
taught : and what is known is rejected, because it
is not sufficiently considered, that men more fre-
quently require to be reminded than Informed. The
learned are afraid to declare their opinion early, lest
they should put their reputation in hazard ; the
ignorant always imagine themselves giving some
proof of delicacy, when they refuse to be pleased :
and he that finds his way to reputation through all
these obstructions, must acknowledge that he is in-
debted to other causes besides his industry, his
learning, or his wit.

NO. 3. RAMBLER. < i

No. 3. TUESDAY, MARCH 27, 1750.

Vii'tus, repulsce nescia soi'dklce,
InUiininatis Jidytt honuribus,
Nee stimit aid ponit secures
Arbitrio 2Xipularis aurce. HOR. CAR. iii. 2. 17.

Undisappolnted in designs,

With native honours virtue shines;

Nor takes up power, nor lays it down,

As giddy rabbles smile or frown. elpiiinston.

The task of an author is, either to teach what is
not known, or to recommend known truths by his
manner of adorning them ; either to let new hght in
upon the mind, and open new scenes to the prospect,
or to vary the dress and situation of common objects,
so as to give them fresh grace and more powerful
attractions ; to spread such flowers over the regions
through which the intellect has already made its
jjrogress, as may tempt it to return, and take a
second view of things hastily passed over, or negli-
gently regarded.

Either of these labours is very difficult, because,
that they may not be fruitless, men must not only
be persuaded of their errors, but reconciled to their
guide ; they must not only confess their ignorance,
but, what is still less pleasing, must allow that he
from whom they are to learn is more knowing than
themselves.

It might be imagined that such an em])loyment
was in il.^elf sulliciently irksome and hazardous ; that
none would be found so malevolent as wantonly to

78 RAMBLER. NO. 3.

add weight to the stone of Sisyphus ; and that few
endeavours would be used to obstruct those advances
to reputation, which must be made at such an ex-
pense of time and thought, with so great hazard in
the miscarriage, and with so little advantage from
the success.

Yet there is a certain race of men, that either
imagine it their duty, or make it their amusement,
to hinder the reception of every work of learning or
genius, who stand as sentinels in the avenues of
fame, and value themselves upon giving Ignorance
and Envy the first notice of a prey.

To these men, who distinguish themselves by the
appellation of Critics, it is necessary for a new au-
thor to find some means of recommendation. It is
probable, that the most malignant of these persecu-
tors might be somewhat softened, and prevailed on,
for a short time, to remit their fury. Having for
this purpose considered many expedients, I find in
the records of ancient times, that Argus was lulled
by music, and Cerberus quieted with a sop ; and am,
therefore, inclined to believe that modern critics,
who, if they have not the eyes, have the watchful-
ness of Argus, and can bark as loud as Cerberus,
though, perhaps, they cannot bite with equal force,
might be subdued by methods of the same kind. I
have heard how some have been pacified with claret
and a supper, and others laid asleep with the soft
notes of flattery.

Though the nature of my undertaking gives me a
sufficient reason to dread the united attacks of this
virulent generation, yet I have not hitherto per-
suaded myself to take any measures for flight or
treaty. For I am in doubt whether they can act
against me by lawful authority, and suspect that
they have presumed upon a forged commission,

NO. 3. • RAMBLER. 79

Styled themselves the ministers of Criticism, with-
out any authentic evidence of delegation, and utter-
ed their own determinations as the decrees of a
higher judicature.

Criticism, from whom they derive their claim to
decide the fate of writers, was the eldest daughter
of Labour and of Truth: she was at her birth com-
mitted to the care of Justice, and brought up by her
in the palace of Wisdom. Being soon distinguished
by the celestials, for her uncommon qualities, she
was appointed the governess of Fancy, and em-
powered to beat time to the chorus of the Muses,
when they sung before the throne of Jupiter.

When the Muses condescended to visit this lower
world, they came accompanied by Criticism, to
whom, upon her descent from her native regions,
Justice gave a sceptre, to be carried aloft in her
right hand, one end of which was tinctured with am-
brosia, and in wreathed with a golden foliage of ama-
ranths and bays ; the other end was encircled with
cypress and pop[)ies, and dipped in the waters of
oblivion. In her left hand she bore an unextinguish-
able torch, manufactured by Labour, and lighted by
Truth, of which it was the particular quality imme-
diately to show every thing in its true form,
however it might be disguised to common eyes.
Whatever Art could comphcate, or Folly could
confound, was, upon the tirst gleam of the torch of
Truth, exhibited in its distinct parts and original
simplicity; it darted through the labyrinths of soph-
istry, and showed at once all the absurdities to which
they served for refuge ; it pierced through the rol>es,
which rlietoric often sold to falsehood, and detected
the disj)roportion of i)arts, which artilicial veils had
been contrived to cover.

Thus furnished lor the execution of her office,

80 RAMBLER. NO. 3.

Criticism came down to survey the performances
of those who professed themselves the votaries of
the Muses. Whatever was brought before her, she
beheld by the~ steady light of the torch of Truth, and
when her examination had convinced her that the
laws of just writing had been observed, she touched
it with the amaranthine end of the sceptre, and con-
signed it over to immortality.

But it more frequently happened, that in the
works, which required her inspection, there was
some imposture attempted ; that false colours were
laboriously laid ; that some secret inequality was
found between the words and sentiments, or some
dissimilitude of the ideas and the original objects ;
that incongruities were linked together, or that some
parts were of no use but to enlarge the appearance
of the whole, without contributing to its beauty, solid-
ity, or usefulness.

Whenever such discoveries were made, and they
were made whenever these faults were committed.
Criticism refused the touch which conferred the
sanction of immortality, and, when the errors were
frequent and gross, reversed the sceptre, and let
drops of lethe distil from the poppies and cypress, a
fatal mildew, which immediately began to waste the
work away, till it was at last totally destroyed.

There were some compositions brought to the
test, in which, when the strongest light was thrown
upon them, their beauties and faults appeared so
equally mingled, that Criticism stood with her sceptre
poised in her hand, in doubt whether to shed lethe,
or ambrosia, upon them. These at last increased to
so great a number, that she was weary of attending
such doubtful claims, and, for fear of using improp-
erly the sceptre of Justice, referred the cause to
be considered by Time.

NO. 3. RAMBLER. 81

The proceedings of Time, though very dilatory,
were, some few caprices excepted, conformable to
justice : and many who thought themselves secure
by a short forbearance, have sunk under his scythe,
as they were posting down with their volumes in
triumph to futurity. It was observable that some
were destroyed by little and little, and others crush-
ed forever by a single blow.

Criticism having long kept her eye fixed steadily
upon Time, was at last so well satisfied with his
conduct, that she withdrew from the earth with her
patroness Astrea, and left Prejudice and False
Taste to ravaore at laro;e as the associates of Fraud
and Mischief; contenting herself thenceforth to shed
her influence from afar upon some select minds,
fitted for its reception by learning and by virtue.

Before her departure she broke her sceptre, of
which the shivers, that formed the ambrosial end,
were caught up by Flattery, and those that had
been infected with the waters of lethe were, with
equal haste, seized by Malevolence. The followers
of Flattery, to whom she distributed her part of the
sceptre, neither had nor desired light, but touched
indiscriminately whatever Power or Interest hap-
pened to exhibit. The companions of Malevolence
were supplied by the Furies with a torch, which had
this quality peculiar to infernal lustre, that its light
fell only upon faults.

No light, but rather darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe.

MILTON'S r. L. i. 63

With these fragments of authority, the slaves of
Flattery and Malevolence marched out at the com-
mand of their mistresses, to confer immortality, or
condemn to oblivion. But the sceptre had now lost

VOL. XVI. 6

82 RAMBLER. NO. 4.

its power ; and Time passes his sentence at leisure,
without any regard to their determinations.

No. 4. SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 1750.

— Simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vitce.

HOR. ARS POET. 334.

And join both profit and delight in one. creech.

The works of fiction, with which the present gen-
eration seems more particularly delighted, are such
as exhibit life in its true state, diversified only by
accidents that daily happen in the world, and in-
fluenced by passions and qualities which are really
to be found in conversing with mankind.

This kind of writing may be termed, not, improp-
erly, the comedy of romance, and is to be conducted
nearly by the rules of comic poetry. Its province
is to bring about natural events by easy means, and
to keep up curiosity without the help of wonder : it
is, therefore, precluded from the machines and ex-
pedients of the heroic romance, and can neither em-
ploy giants to snatch away a lady from the nuptial
rites, nor knights to bring her back from captivity ;
it can neither bewilder its personages in deserts, nor
lodge them in imaginary castles.

I remember a remark made by Scaliger upon
Pontanus, that all his writings are filled with the
same images ; and that, if you take from him his
liUes and his roses, his satyrs and his dryads, he will

NO. 4. RAMBLER. 83

have nothing left that can be called poetry. In like
manner, almost all the fictions of the last age will
vanish, if you deprive them of a hermit and a wood,
a battle and a shipwreck.

Why this wild strain of imagination found recep-
tion so long, in polite and learned ages, it is not easy
to conceive ; but we cannot wonder that while read-
ers could be procured, the authors were willing to
continue it ; for when a man had by practice gained
some fluency of language, he had no further care
than to retire to his closet, let loose his invention,
and heat his mind with incredibilities ; a book was
thus produced without fear of criticism, without the
toil of study, without knowledge of nature, or ac-
quaintance with life.

The task of our present writers is very different ;
it requires, together with that learning which is to
be gained from books, that experience which can
never be attained by solitary dihgence, but must
arise from general converse and accurate observa-
tion of the living world. Their performances have,
as Horace expresses it, plus oneris quantum venice
minus, little indulgence, and, therefore, more diffi-
culty. They are engaged in portraits of which
every one knows the original, and can detect any
deviation from exactness of resemblance. Other
writings are safe, except from the malice of learn-
ing, but these are in danger from every common
reader ; as the slipper ill executed was censured by
a shoemaker who happened to stop in his way at
the Venus of Apelles.

But llie fear of not being approved as just copiers
of human manners, is not the most important con-
cern that an author of this sort ought to have be-
fore him. These books are written chieliy to the
young, the ignorant, and the idle, to wliom they

84 RAMBLER. NO. 4.

serve as lectures of conduct, and introductions into
life. They are the entertainment of minds unfur-
nished with ideas, and, therefore, easily susceptible
of impressions ; not fixed by principles, and, there-
fore, easily following the current of fancy ; not in-
formed by experience, and consequently open to
every false suggestion and partial account.

That the hisrhest deo^ree of reverence should be
paid to youth, and that nothing indecent should be
suffered to approach their eyes or ears, are precepts
extorted by sense and virtue from an ancient writer,
by no means eminent for chastity of thought. The
same kind, though not the same degree of caution, is
required in every thing which is laid before them,
to secure them from unjust prejudices, perverse
opinions, and incongruous combinations of images.

In the romances formerly written, every trans-
action and sentiment was so remote from all that
passes among men, that the reader was in very little
danger of making any applications to himself; the
virtues and crimes were equally beyond his sphere
of activity ; and he amused himself with heroes and
with traitors, deUverers and persecutors, as with be-
ings of another species, whose actions were regulat-
ed upon motives of their own, and who had neither
faults nor excellences in common with himself.

But when an adventurer is levelled with the rest
of the world, and acts in such scenes of the univer-
sal drama as may be the lot of any other man,
young spectators fix their eyes upon him with closer
attention, and hope, by observing his behaviour
and success, to regulate their own practices, when
they shall be engaged in the like part.

For this reason these familiar histories may, per-
haps, be made of greater use than the solemnities
of professed morality, and convey the knowledge of

NO. 4. RAMBLER. 85

vice and virtue with more efficacy than axioms and
definitions. But if the power of example is so great,
as to take possession of the memory by a kind of
violence, and produce effects almost without the
intervention of the will, care ought to be taken, that,
when the choice is unrestrained, the best examples
only should be exhibited ; and that which is likely
to operate so strongly, should not be mischievous or
uncertain in its effects.

The chief advantage which these fictions have
over real life is, that their authors are at liberty,
though not to invent, yet to select objects, and to
cull from the mass of mankind, those individuals
upon which the attention ought most to be employed ;
as a diamond, though it cannot be made, Vnay be
polished by art, and placed in such a situation, as
to display that lustre which before was buried
among: common stones.

It is justly considered as the greatest excellency
of art, to imitate nature; but it is necessary to dis-
tinguish those parts of nature, which are most
proper for imitation : greater care is still required
in representing life, which is so often discoloured by
passion, or deformed by wickedness. If the world
be promiscuously described, I cannot see of what
use it can be to read the account ; or why it may
not be as safe to turn tiie eye immediately upon
mankind as upon a mirror which shows all that pre-
sents itself witliout discrimination.

It is, therefore, not a sufiicient vindication of a
character, that it is drawn as it appears, for many
characters ought never to be drawn ; nor of a narra-
tive, that the train of events is agreeable to observa-
tion and experience, for that observation which is
called knowlcdfre of the world will be found much
more freciuently to make men cuiniing tlian good.

86 RAMBLER. NO. 4.

The purpose of these writings is surely not only to
show mankind, but to provide that they may be
seen hereafter with less hazard ; to teach the means
of avoiding the snares which are laid by Treachery
for Innocence, without infusing any wish for that
superiority with which the betrayer flatters his van-
ity ; to give the power of counteracting fraud, with-
out the temptation to practise it ; to initiate youth
by mock encounters in the art of necessary defence,
and to increase prudence without impairing virtue.

Many writers, for the sake of following nature,
so mingle good and bad qualities in their principal
personages, that they are both equally conspicuous ;
and as we accompany them through their adven-
tures with delight, and are led by degrees to inter-
est ourselves in their favour, we lose the abhorrence
of their faults, because they do not hinder our plea-
sure, or, perhaps, regard them with some kindness
for being united with so much merit.

There have been men, indeed, splendidly wicked,
whose endowments threw a brightness on their
crimes, and whom scarce any villany made perfectly
detestable, because they never could be wholly di-
vested of their excellences ; but such have been in
all ages the great corrupters of the world, and their
resemblance ought no more to be preserved, than
the art of murdering without pain.

Some have advanced, without due attention to
the consequences of this notion, that certain virtues
have their correspondent faults, and, therefore, that
to exhibit either apart is to deviate from probability.
Thus men are observed by Swift to be ' grateful in
the same degree as they are resentful.' This prin-
ciple, witli others of the same kind, supposes man
to act from a brute impulse, and pursue a certain
degree of inclination, without any choice of the ob-

NO. 4. RAMBLER. 87

ject ; for, otherwise, though it should be allowed that
gratitude and resentment arise from the same con-
stitution of the passions, it follows not that they will
be equally indulged when reason is consulted ; yet
unless that consequence be admitted, this sagacious
maxim becomes an empty sound, without any rela-
tion to practice or to life.

Nor is it evident, that even the first motions to
these effects are always in the same proportion. For
pride, which produces quickness of resentment, will
obstruct gratitude, by unwillingness to admit that
inferiority which obligation implies ; and it is very
unlikelv, that he who cannot think he receives a
favour, will acknowledge or repay it.

It is of the utmost importance to mankind, that
positions of this tendency should be laid open and
confuted; for while men consider good and evil as
springing from the same root, they will spare the
one for the sake of the other, and in judging, if not
of others at least of themselves, will be apt to esti-
mate their virtues by their vices. To this ftital
error all those will contribute, who confound the
colours of right and wrong, and, instead of helping
to settle their boundaries, mix them with so much
art, that no common mind is able to disunite them.

Ill narratives, where historical veracity has no
place, 1 cannot discover why there should not be
exhibited the most perfect idea of virtue ; of virtue
not angelical, nor above probability, for what we
cannot credit we shall never imitate, but the highest
and purest that humanity can reach, which exercised
in such trials as the various revolutions of things
shall bring upon it, may, by conquering some calam-
ities, and enduring others, teach us what we may
hope, and what we can perforin. Vice, for vice is
necessary to be shown, should always disgust ; nor

88 RAMBLER. NO. 5.

should the graces of gayety, or the dignity of cour-
age, be so united with it, as to reconcile it to the
mind : wherever it appears, it should raise hatred
by the malignity of its practices, and contempt by
the meanness of its stratagems: for while it is sup-
ported by either parts or spirit, it will be seldom
heartily abhorred. The Romati tyrant was content
to be hated, if he was but feared ; and there are
thousands of the readers of romances willing to be
thought wicked, if they may be allowed to be wits.
It is, therefore, to be steadily inculcated, that virtue
is the highest proof of understanding, and the only
solid basis of greatness ; and that vice is the natural
consequence of narrow thoughts ; that it begins in
mistake, and ends in ignominy.

No. 5. TUESDAY, APRIL 3, 1750.

Et nunc omnis uger, nunc omnis j^'^vturlt arbos,
Nunc frondent silvce^ nunc formoslsslmus annus.

viRG. ECL. iii. 56.

Now every field, now every tree is green ;
Now genial nature's fairest face is seen.

ELPHINSTON.

Every man is sufficiently discontented with some
circumstances of his present state, to suffer his im-
agination to range more or less in quest of future
happiness, and to fix upon some point of time, in
which, by the removal of the inconvenience which
now perplexes him, or acquisition of the advantage

NO. 5. RAMBLER. 89

which he at present wants, he shall find the condi-
tion of his life very much improved.

Wiien this time, which is too often expected with
great impatience, at last arrives, it generally comes
Avithout the blessing for which it was desired ; but
we solace ourselves with some new prospect, and
press forward again with equal eagerness.

It is lucky for a man, in whom this temper pre-
vails, when he turns his hopes upon things wholly
out of his own power ; since he forbears then to pre-
cipitate his affairs, for the sake of the great event
that is to complete his felicity, and waits for the
blissful hour with less neglect of the measure? ne-
cessary to be taken in the mean time.

I have long known a person of this temper, who
indulged his dream of happiness with less hurt to
himself than such chimerical wishes commonly pro-
duce, and adjusted his scheme with such address,
that his hopes were in full bloom three parts of the
year, and in the other part never wholly blasted.
Many, perhaps, would be desirous of learning by
what means he procured to himself such a cheap
and lasting satisfaction. It was gained by a con-
stant practice of referring the removal of all his
uneasiness to the coming of the next spring ; if his
health was impaired, the spring would restore it ; if
what he wanted was at a high price, it would fall its
value in tlie spring.

The spring, indeed, did often come without any
of these effects, but he was always certain that the
next would be more propitious; nor was ever con-
vinced, that the present spring would fail him be-
fore the middle of summer ; for he always talked of
the spring as coming till it was past, and when it
was once past, every one agreed with him that it
was coming.

90 RAMBLER. NO. 5.

By long converse with this man, I am, perhaps,
brought to feel immoderate pleasure in the contem-
plation of this delightful season; but I have the
satisfaction of finding many, whom it can be no
shame to resemble, infected with the same enthu-
siasm ; for there is, I believe, scarce any poet of
eminence, who has not left some testimony of his
fondness for the flowers, the zephyrs, and the war-
blers of the spring. Nor has the most luxuriant
imagination been able to describe the serenity and
happiness of the golden age, otherwise than by giv-
ing a perpetual sjDring as the highest reward of un-
corrfipted innocence.

There is, indeed, something inexpressibly pleas-
ing in the annual renovation of the world, and the
new display of the treasures of nature. The cold
and darkness of winter, with the naked deformity
of every object on which we turn our eyes, make us
rejoice at the succeeding season, as well for what
we have escaped, as for what we may enjoy ; and
every budding flower, which a warm situation brings
early to our view, is considered by us as a mes-
senger to notify the approach of more joyous days.

The spring affords to a mind, so free from the
disturbance of cares or passions as to be vacant to
calm amusements, almost every thing that our pres-
ent state makes us capable of enjoying. The
variegated verdure of the fields and woods, the suc-
cession of grateful odours, the voice of pleasure
pouring out its notes on every side, with the glad-
ness apparently conceived by every animal, from
the growth of his food, and the clemency of the
weather, throw over the whole earth an air of
gayety, significantly expressed by the smile of
nature.

Yet there are men to whom these scenes are able

NO. 5. RAMBLER. 91

to give no delight, and who huny away from all
the varieties of rural beauty, to lose their hours and
divert their thoughts by cards, or assemblies, a
tavern dinner, or the prattle of the day.

It may be laid down as a position which will
seldom deceive, that when a man cannot bear his
own company, there is something wrong. He must
fly from himself, either because he feels a tedious-
ness in life from the equipoise of an empty mind,
which, having no tendency to one motion more than
another but as it is impelled by some external
power, must always have recourse to foreign objects ;
or he must be afraid of the intrusion of some un-
pleasing ideas, and, perhaps, is struggling to escape
from the remembrance of a loss, the fear of a ca-
lamity, or some other thought of greater horror.

Those whom sorrow incapacitates to enjoy the
pleasures of contemplation, may properly apply to
such diversions, provided they are innocent, as lay
strong hold on the attention ; and those, whom fear
of any future attiiction chains down to misery, must
endeavour to obviate the danger.

My considerations shall, on this occasion, be turned
on such as are burdensome to themselves merely
because they want subjects for reflection, and to
whom the volume of nature is thrown open, without
affording them pleasure or instruction, because tiiey
never learned to read the characters.

A French author has advanced this seeming para-
dox, that ' very few men know how to take a walk ; '
and, indeed, it is true, that few know how to take a
walk with a prospect of any other pleasure, than the
same com})any would have afforded them at home.

There are animals that borrow their colour from
the neighbouring body, and conse({uently vary their
hue as they happen to change their place. In like

92 RAMBLER. NO. 5.

manner it ought to be the endeavour of every man
to derive his reflections from the objects about him ;
for it is to no purpose that he alters his position, if
his attention continues fixed to the same point. The
mind should be kept open to the access of every new
idea, and so far disengaged from the predominance
of particular thoughts as easily to accommodate it-
self to occasional entertainment.

A man that has formed this habit of turning every
new object to his entertainment, finds in the produc-
tions of nature an inexhaustible stock of materials
upon which he can employ himself, without any
temptations to envy or malevolence ; faults, perhaps,
seldom totally avoided by those, whose judgment is
much exercised upon the works of art. He has al-
ways a certain prospect of discovering new reasons
for adoring the sovereign Author of the universe,
and probable hopes of making some discovery of
benefit to others, or of profit to himself. There is
no doubt but many vegetables and animals have
qualities that might be of great use, to the knowledge
of which there is not required much force of pene-
tration or fatigue of study, but only frequent experi-
ments and close attention. What is said by the
chemists of their darling mercury, is, perhaps, true
of everybody through the whole creation, that, if a
thousand lives should be spent upon it, all its prop-
erties would not be found out.

Mankind must necessarily be diversified by various
tastes, since life affords and requires such multipli-
city of employments, and a nation of naturalists is
neither to be hoped nor desired ; but it is surely not
improper to point out a fresh amusement to those
who languish in health, and repine in plenty, for
want of some source of diversion that may be less
easily exhausted, and to inform the multitudes of

NO. 6. RAMBLKR. 03

both sexes, who are burdened with every new
day, that there are many shows which they have
not seen.

He that enhirges his curiosity after the works of
nature, demonstrably mukiphes the inlets to happi-
ness ; and, therefore, the younger part of my readers,
to whom I dedicate this vernal speculation, must ex-
cuse me for calling upon them, to make use at once
of the spring of the year, and the spring of life ; to
acquire, while their minds may be yet impressed
with new images, a love of innocent pleasures, and
an ardour for useful knowledge ; and to remember
that a blighted spring makes a barren year, and that
the vernal flowers, however beautiful and gay, are
only intended by nature as preparatives to autum-
nal fruits.

No. 6. SATURDAY, APRIL 7, 1750.

Strenua nos exercet inertia : navibus atque
Qttadrifjis petimus bene river e. Quod jjeiis, hie est;
Est Ulubiis, animus si te non dejicit cequns.

HOR. EPIST. ii. 11. 28.

Active in indolence, abroad we roam
In quest of happiness,' which dwells at home:
With vain pursuits fatigued, at length you '11 find,
No place excludes it from an equal mind.

ELPHINSTON.

That man should never suffer his happiness to
depend upon external circumstances, is one of the

94 RAMBLER. NO. 6.

chief precepts of the Stoical philosophy ; a precept,
indeed, which that loftj sect has extended beyond
the condition of human life, and in which some of
them seem to have comprised an utter exclusion of
all corporal pain and pleasure from the regard or
attention of a wise man.

Such sapientia insamens, as Horace calls the
doctrine of another sect, such extravagance of philo-
sophy, can w^ant neither authority nor argument for
its confutation ; it is overthrown by the experience
of every hour, and the powers of nature rise up
against it. But we may very properly inquire, how
near to this exalted state it is in our power to ap-
proach, how far we can exempt ourselves from out-
ward influences, and secure to our minds a state of
tranquillity ; for, though the boast of absolute inde-
pendence is ridiculous and vain, yet a mean flexi-
bility to every impulse, and a patient submission to
the tyranny of casual troubles, is below the dignity
of that mind, which, however depraved or weakened,
boasts its derivation from a celestial original, and
hopes for a union with infinite goodness and unvari-
able felicity.

Ni viilis pejora f ovens

Prqprium cleserat ortum.

Unless the soul, to vice a thrall,
Desert her own original.

The necessity of erecting ourselves to some degree
of intellectual dignity, and of preserving resources
of pleasure, which may not be wholly at the mercy
of accident, is never more apparent than when we
turn our eyes upon those whom fortune has let loose
to their own conduct ; who, not being chained down
by their condition to a regular and stated allotment

NO. 6. RAMBLER. 95

of their hours, are obliged to find tliemselves busi-
ness or diversion, and having nothing within tliat
can entertain or employ them, are compelled to try
all the arts of destroying time.

The numberless expedients practised by this class
of mortals to alleviate the burden of life, are not
less shameful, nor, perhaps, much less pitiable, than
those to which a trader on the edge of bankru[)tcy
is reduced. I have seen melancholy overspread a
whole family at the disappointment of a party for
cards ; and when, after the proposal of a thousand
schemes, and the dispatch of the footman upon a
hundred messages, they have submitted with gloomy
resignation to the misfortune of passing one evening
in conversation with each other, on a sudden, such
are the revolutions of the world, an unexpected
visitor has brought them relief, acceptable as provis-
ion to a starving city, and enabled them to hold out
till the next day.

The general remedy of those, who are uneasy
without knowing the cause, is change of place ; they
are willing to imagine that their pain is the conse-
quence of some local inconvenience, and endeavoui
to fly from it, as children from their shadows ; al-
ways hoping for some more satisfactory delight from
every new scene, and always returning home with
disappointment and complaints.

\Vho can look U[)on this kind of infatuation, with-
out reflecting on those that suffer under the dreadful
symptom of canine madness, termed by physicians
the dread of water? These miserable wretches,
unable to drink, though burning with thirst, are
sometimes known to try various contortions, or in-
clinations of the body, flattering tliemselves that
they can swallow in one posture that licpior which
they flnd in anotiier to repel tlieir lips.

OG RAMBLER. NO. 6.

Yet such folly is not peculiar to the thoughtless
or ignorant, but sometimes seizes those minds which
seem most exempted from it, by the variety of at-
tainments, quickness of penetration, or severity of
judgment; and, indeed, the pride of wit and know-
ledge is often mortified by finding that they confer
no security against the common errors, which mis-
lead the weakest and meanest of mankind.

These reflections arose in my mind upon the re-
membrance of a passage in Cowley's preface to his
poems, where, however exalted by genius, and en-
larged by study, he informs us of a scheme of happi-
ness to which the imagination of a girl upon the loss
of her first lover, could have scarcely given way ;
but which he seems to have indulged, till he had
totally forgotten its absurdity, and would probably
have put in execution, had he been hindered only
by his reason.

" My desire," says he, " has been for some years
past, though the execution has been accidentally
diverted, and does still vehemently continue, to re-
tire myself to some of our American plantations, not
to seek for gold, or enrich myself with the traffic of
those parts, which is the end of most men that tra-
vel thither ; but to forsake this world forever, with
all the vanities and vexations of it, and to bury my-
self there in some obscure retreat, but not without
the consolation of letters and philosophy."

Such was the chimerical provision which Cowley
had made, in his own mind, for the quiet of his re-
maining life, and which he seems to recommend to
posterity, since there is no other reason for disclosing
it. Surely, no stronger instance can be given of a
persuasion that content was the inhabitant of par-
ticular regions, and that a man might set sail with a
fair wind, and leave behind him all his cares, in-
cumbrances, and calamities.

NO. 6. RAMBLER. 97

If lie travelled so far with no other purpose than
to bury himself in some obscure retreat, he might
have found, in his own country, innumerable coverts
sufficiently dark to have concealed the genius of
Cowley ; for whatever might be his opinion of the
importunity with which he should be summoned back
into public life, a short experience would have con-
vinced him, that privation is easier than acquisition,
and that it would require little continuance to free
himself from the intrusion of the world. There is
l)ride enough in the human heart to prevent much
desire of acquaintance with a man, by whom we are
sure to be neglected, however his reputation for
science or virtue may excite our curiosity or esteem,
so that the lover of retirement needs not be afraid
lest the respect of strangers should overwhelm him
with visits. Even those to whom he has formerlv
been known, will very patiently support his absence
when they have tried a little to live without him,
and found new diversions for those moments which
his company contributed to exhilarate.

It was, perhaps, ordained by Providence, to hinder
us from tyrannizing over one another, that no indi-
vidual should be of such importance, as to cause, by
his retirement or death, any chasm in the world.
And Cowley had conversed to little purpose with
mankind, if he had never remarked, how soon the
useful friend, the gay companion, and the favoured
lover, when once they are removied from before the
sight, give way to the succession of new objects.

The privacy, therefore, of his hermitage might
have been safe enough from violation, though he
had chosen it within the limits of his native island ;
he might have found here preservatives against the
vanities and vexations of the world, not less effica-
cious than those which the woods or fields of America

VOL. XVI. 7

98 RAMBLER. NO. 6.

could afford him ; but having once his mind imbit-
tered with disgust, he conceived it impossible to be
far enough from the cause of his uneasiness ; and
was posting away with the expedition of a coward,
who, for want of venturing to looli behind him, thinks
the enemy perpetually at his heels.

When he was interrupted by company, or fatigued
with business, he so strongly imaged to himself the
happiness of leisure and retreat, that he determined
to enjoy them for the future without interruption,
and to exclude forever all that could deprive him
of his darling satisfaction. He forgot, in the vehe-
mence of desire, that solitude and quiet owe their
pleasures to those miseries, which he was so studi-
ous to obviate ; for such are the vicissitudes of the
world, through all its parts, that day and night,
labour and rest, hurry and retirement, endear each
other ; such are the changes that keep the mind in
action ; we desire, we pursue, we obtain, we are
satiated ; we desire something else, and begin a
new pursuit.

If he had proceeded in his project, and fixed his
habitation in the most delightful part of the new
world, it may be doubted, whether his distance from
the vanities of life would have enabled him to keep
away the vexations. It is common for a man who
feels pain, to fancy that he could bear it better in
any other part. Cowley having known the troubles
and perplexities of a particular condition, readily
persuaded himself that nothing worse was to be
found, and that every alteration would bring some
improvement ; he never suspected that the cause of
his unhappiness was within, that his own passions
were not sufficiently regulated, and that he was
harassed by his own impatience, which could never
be without something to awaken it, would accompany

NO. 7. KAMBLER. 99

him over the sea, and find its way to his American
Elysium. He would, upon the trial, have been soon
convinced, that the fountain of content must spring
up in the mind ; and that he, who has so little know-
ledge of human nature, as to seek happiness by
changing any thing, but his own dispositions, will
waste his life in fruitless efforts, and multiply the
griefs wliich he purposes to remove.

No. 7. TUESDAY, APRIL 10, 1750.

0 quiperpetud mundum ratione gubernas,

Terrarum coelique Sator ! —

Disjice terrenes nebulas etpondera molls,

Atque tuo splendore mica ! Tu namque serenum,

Tu requies tranquilla piis. Te cernere, Jinis,

Principium, vector, dux, semita, terminus, idem.

BOETHIUS.

0 thou whose power o'er moving worlds presides,
Whose voice created, and wliose wisdom guides,
On darkling man in pure efFulgence shine,
And cheer the clouded mind with light divine.
'Tis thine alone to calm the pious breast
With silent confidence and holy rest:
From thee, great God, we spring, to thee we tend,
Path, motive, guide, original, and end.

The love of retirement has, in all ages, adhered
closely to those minds which have been most en-
larged by knowledge or elevated by genius. Those
who enjoyed every thing generally supposed to
confer ha[)piness, have been forced to seek it in the
shades of privacy. Though they possessed both

100 RAMBLER. NO. 7.

power and riches, and were, therefore, surrounded
by men, who considered it as their chief interest to
remove from them everj thing that might offend
their ease or interrupt their pleasure, they have
soon felt the languors of satiety, and found them-
selves unable to pursue the race of life without fre-
quent respirations of intermediate solitude.

To produce this disposition nothing appears requi-
site but quick sensibility and active imagination ;
for, though not devoted to virtue or science, the
man, whose faculties enable him to make ready
comparisons of the present with the past, will find
such a constant recurrence of the same pleasures
and troubles, the same expectations and disappoint-
ments, that he will gladly snatch an hour of retreat,
to let his thoughts expatiate at large, and seek for
that variety in his own ideas, which the objects of
sense cannot afford him.

Nor will greatness, or abundance, exempt him
from the importunities of this desire, since, if he is
born to think, he cannot restrain himself from a
thousand inquiries and speculations, which he must
pursue by his own reason, and which the splendour
of his condition can only hinder ; for those who are
most exalted above dependence or control, are yet
condemned to pay so large a tribute of their time
to custom, ceremony, and popularity, that, accord-
ing to the Greek proverb, no man in the house is
more a slave than the master.

When a king asked Euclid, the mathematician,
whether he could not explain his art to him in a
more compendious manner, he was answered, that
there was no royal way to geometry. Other things
may be seized by might, or purchased with money,
but knowledge is to be gained only by study, and
study to be prosecuted only in retirement.

NO. 7. RAMBLER. 101

These are some of the motives wliich have Iiad
power to sequester kings and heroes from the crowds
that soothed them with flatteries, or inspirited them
with acchimations ; but their etficacy seems confined
to the higher mind, and to operate little upon the
common classes of mankind, to whose conceptions
the present assemblage of things is adequate, and
who seldom range beyond those entertainments and
vexations, which solicit their attention by pressing
on their senses.

But there is a universal reason for some stated
intervals of solitude, which the institutions of the
church call upon me, now especially, to mention ; a
reason, which extends as wide as moral duty, or the
hopes of divine favour in a future state ; and which
ought to influence all ranks of life, and all degrees
of intellect ; since none can imagine themselves not
comprehended in its obligation, but such as determine
to set their Maker at defiance by obstinate wicked-
ness, or whose enthusiastic security of his approba-
tion places them above external ordinances, and all
human means of improvement.

The great task of him who conducts his life by
the precepts of religion, is to make the future pre-
dominate over the present, to impress upon his mind
60 strong a sense of the importance of obedience to
the divine will, of the value of the reward promised to
virtue, and the terrors of the punishment denounced
against crimes, as may overbear all the tempta-
tions which temporal hope or fear can bring in his
way, and enable him to bid equal defiance to joy
and sorrow, to turn away at one time from the alhire-
ments of ambition, and push forward at another
against the threats of calamity.

It is not witliout reason tliat the apostle repre-
sents our passage through tliis stage of our existence

102 RAMBLER. NO. 7.

by images drawn from the alarms and solicitude of
a military life ; for we are placed in such a state,
that almost every thing about us conspires against
our chief interest. We are in danger from what-
ever can get possession of our thoughts ; all that can
excite in us either pain or pleasure has a tendency
to obstruct the way that leads to happiness, and
either to turn us aside, or retard our progress.

Our senses, our appetites, and our passions, are
our lawful and faithful guides, in most things that
relate solely to this life ; and, therefore, by the hour-
ly necessity of consulting them, we gradually sink
into an implicit submission, and habitual confidence.
Every act of compliance with their motions facilitates
a second compliance, every new step towards de-
pravity is made with less reluctance than the former,
and thus the descent to life merely sensual is per-
petually accelerated.

The senses have not only that advantage over
conscience, which things necessary must always have
over things chosen, but they have likewise a kind of
prescription in their favour. We feared pain much
earlier than we apprehended guilt, and were delight-
ed with the sensations of pleasure, before we had
capacities to be charmed with the beauty of recti-
tude. To this power, thus early established, and
incessantly increasing, it must be remembered, that
almost every man has, in some part of his life, add-
ed new strength by a voluntary or negligent sub-
jection of himself; for who is there that has not
instigated his appetites by indulgence, or suffered
them by an unresisting neutrality to enlarge their
dominion, and multiply their demands ?

From the necessity of dispossessing the sensitive
faculties of the influence which they must naturally
gain by this preoccupation of the soul, arises that

NO. 7. RAMBLER. 103

conflict between opposite desires, in the first endeav-
ours after a religious life ; which, however enthu-
siastically it mav have been described, or however
contemj)tuously ridiculed, will naturally be felt in
some degree, though varied without end, by dilFer-
ent tempers of mind, and innumerable circum-
stances of health or condition, greater or less fervour,
more or fewer temptations to relapse.

From the perpetual necessity of consulting the
animal faculties, in our provision for the present
life, arises the difficulty of withstanding their im-
pulses, even in cases where they ought to be of no
weight ; for the motions of sense are instantaneous,
its objects strike unsought ; we are accustomed to
follow its directions, and, therefore, often submit to
the sentence without examining the authority of the
judge.

Thus it appears, upon a philosophical estimate,
that, supposing the mind, at any certain time, in an
equipoise between the pleasures of this life and the
hopes of futurity, present objects falling more fre-
quently into the scale, would in time preponderate,
and that our regard for an invisible state would
grow every moment weaker, till at last it would
lose all its activity, and become absolutely without
effect.

To prevent this dreadful event, the balance is put
into our own hands, and we have power to transfer
the weight to either side. The motives to a life
of holiness are infinite, not less than the favour or
anger of Omnipotence, not less than eternity of ha})-
piness or misery. But these can only influence our
conduct a< they gain our attention, which the busi-
ness, or diversions, of the world are always calling
off by contrary attracti(jns.

The great art, therefore, of piety, and tlie end for

104 RAMBLER. NO. 7.

which all the rites of religion seem to be instituted,
is the perpetual renovation of the motives to virtue,
by a voluntary employment of our mind in the con-
templation of its excellence, its importance, and its
necessity ; which, in proportion as they are more
frequently and more willingly revolved, gain a more
forcible and permanent influence, till in time they
become the reigning ideas, the standing principles
of action, and the test by which every thing pro-
posed to the judgment is rejected or approved.

To facilitate this change of our affections, it is
necessary that we weaken the temptations of the
world, by retiring at certain seasons from it : for its
influence arising only from its presence, is much
lessened when it becomes the object of solitary medi-
tation. A constant residence amidst noise and pleas-
ure inevitably obliterates the impressions of piety ;
and a frequent abstraction of ourselves into a state,
where this life, like the next, operates only upon
the reason, will reinstate religion in its just author-
ity, even without those irradiations from above, the
hope of which I have no intention to withdraw from
the sincere and the diligent.

This is that conquest of the world and of our-
selves which has been always considered as the per-
fection of human nature ; and this is only to be
obtained by fervent' prayer, steady resolutions, and
frequent retirement from folly and vanity, from the
cares of avarice, and the joys of intemperance, from
the lulling sounds of deceitful flattery, and the tempt-
ing sight of prosperous wickedness.

NO. 8. RAMBLER. 105

No. 8. SATURDAY, APRIL U, 1750.

— Patitur poenas peccandi sola voluntas ;
Nam sceltis intra se taciturn qui cogitat itlliim,
Facti aimen habet. — juv. sat. xiii. 208.

Foi* he that but conceives a crime in thought,
Contracts the danger of au actual fault. creech.

If the most active and industrious of mankind
was able, at the close of life, to recollect distinctly
his past moments, and distribute them, in a regular
account, according to the manner in which they
have been spent, it is scarcely to be imagined how
few would be marked out to the mind, by any per-
manent or visible effects ; how small a proportion
his real action would bear to his seeming possibili-
ties of action ; how many chasms he would tind of
wide and continued vacuity, and how many intersti-
tial spaces unfilled, even in the most tumultuous
hurries of business, and the most eager vehemence
of pursuit.

It is said by modern philosophers, that not only
the o-reat j^lobes of matter are thinlv scattered
through the universe, but the hardest bodies are so
porous, that, if all matter were compressed to perfect
solidity, it might be contained in a cube of a few
feet. In like manner, if all the em[)loyment of life
were crowded into the time which it really occu-
pied, perhaps a few weeks, days, or hours, would be
sufficient for its accom|)lisliment, so far as the mind
was engaged in the performance. For such is the

106 RAMBLER. NO. 8.

inequality of our corporeal to our intellectual facul-
ties, that we contrive in minutes what we execute
in years, and the soul often stands an idle spectator
of the labour of the hands and expedition of the
feet.

For this reason, the ancient generals often found
themselves at leisure to pursue the study of philos-
ophy in the camp ; and Lucan, with historical vera-
city, makes Caesar relate of himself, that he noted
the revolutions of the stars in the midst of prepara-
tions for battle.

— Media inter prcelia semper
Sideribiis, cosUque plagis, superisque vacavi.

Amid the storms of war, with curious eyes
I trace the planets and survey the skies.

That the soul always exerts her peculiar powers,
with greater or less force, is very probable, though
the common occasions of our present condition re-
quire but a small part of that incessant cogitation :
and by the natural frame of our bodies, and general
combination of the world, we are so frequently con-
demned to inactivity, that as through all our time
we are thinking, so for a great part of our time we
can only think.

Lest a power so restless should be either unprofit-
ably or hurtfully employed, and the superfluities
of intellect run to waste, it is no vain speculation to
consider how we may govern our thoughts, restrain
them from irregular motions, or confine them from
boundless dissipation.

How the understanding is best conducted to the
knowledge of science, by what steps it is to be led
forwards in its pursuit, how it is to be cured of its
defects, and habituated to new studies, has been the

NO. 8. RAMBLER. 107

inquiry of many acute and learned men, whose ob-
servations I shall not either adopt or censure ; my
purpose being to consider the moral discii)line of the
mind, and to promote the increase of virtue rather
than of learning.

Tills inquiry seems to have been neglected for
want of remembering that all action has its orisriii
in the mind, and that, therefore, tosutFertiie thoughts
to be vitiated, is to poison the fountains of morality ;
irregular desires will produce licentious practices ;
what men allow themselves to wish they will soon
believe, and will be at last incited to execute what
they please themselves with contriving.

For this reason the casuists of the Romish church,
who gain, by confession, great opportunities of
knowing. human nature, have generally determined
that what it is a crime to do, it is a crime to think.
Since by revolving with pleasure the facility, safety,
or advantage of a wicked deed, a man soon begins
to find his constancy relax, and his detestation soften ;
the happiness of success glittering before him, with-
draws his attention from the atrociousness of the
guilt, and acts are at last confidently perpetrated,
of which the first conception only crept into the
mind, disguised in pleasing complications, and per-
mitted ratiier than invited.

No man has ever been drawn to crimes by love
or jealousy, envy, or hatred, but he can tell how
easily he might at first have repelled the tem[)tation,
how readily his mind would have obeyed a call to
any other object, and how weak his passion has been
after some casual avocation, till he has recalled it
again to his heart, and revived the vi[)er by too
warm a fondness.

Such, tlierefore, is the importance of k<M»ping
reason a constant guard over imagination, that we

108 RAMBLER. NO. 8.

have otherwise no security for our own virtue, but
may corrupt our hearts in the most recluse solitude,
with more pernicious and tyrannical appetites and
wishes than the commerce of the world will gener-
ally produce ; for we are easily shocked by crimes
which appear at once in their full magnitude ; but
the gradual growth of our own wickedness, endeared
by interest, and palliated by all the artifices of self-
deceit, gives us time to form distinctions in our own
favour, and reason, by degrees, submits to absurdity,
as the eye is in time accommodated to darkness.

In this disease of the soul, it is of the utmost im-
portance to apply remedies at the beginning ; and,
therefore, I shall endeavour to show what thoughts
are to be rejected or improved, as they regard the
past, present, or future ; in hopes that some may be
awakened to caution and vigilance, who, perhaps,
indulge themselves in dangerous dreams : so much
the more dangerous, because, being yet only dreams,
they are concluded innocent.

The recollection of the past is only useful by way
of provision for the future ; and, therefore, in review-
ing all occurrences that fall under a religious con-
sideration, it is proper that a man stop at the first
thoughts, to remark how he was led thither, and
why he continues the reflection. If he is dwelling
with delight upon a stratagem of successful fraud, a
night of licentious riot, or an intrigue of guilty
pleasure, let him summon oif his imagination as from
an unlawful pursuit, expel those passages from his
remembrance, of which, though he cannot seriously
approve them, the pleasure overpowers the guilt,
and refer them to a future hour, when they may be
considered with greater safety. Such an hour will
certainly come ; for the impressions of past pleasure
are always lessening, but the sense of guilt, which
respects futurity, continues the same.

NO. 8. RAMBLER. 109

The serious and impartial retrospect of our con-
duct is indisputably necessary to the confirmation
or recovery of virtue, and is, therefore, recommend-
ed under tiie name of self-examination, by divines,
as the first act previous to repentance. It is, indeed,
of so great use, that without it we should always be
to begin life, be seduced forever by the same allure-
ments, and misled by the same fallacies. But in
order that we may not lose the advantage of our
experience, we must endeavour to see every thing
in its proper form, and excite in ourselves those
sentiments which tlie great Author of nature has
decreed the concomitants or followers of good or
bad actions.

Mijd' VTTVO ■ /laXaKOiGtv err' bn/mai TrpocSe^aadai,
Uplv nov rjneptvCjv epyuv rpl^ tKaoTOV ETiiT^ddv '
Till nrapiiStjv ; tI c5' tpe^a ; tI fiot dtoi' ovk eTe?J.a&r] ;
'Ap^iifievog 6' utto TTpioTov C7re^<i?i • kuI fieTSKetTa,
Aet.?M ukv eKTrpij^ag^ k7Tf!T?ofjaceo, XPV'^'''^ ^^e, rip-ov.

" Let not sleep," says Pythagoras, " fall upon thy
eyes till thou hast thrice reviewed the transactions
of the past day. "Where have I turned aside from
rectitude? What liave I been doing? What have
I left undone, which I ought to have done? Bejjin
thus from the first act, and proceed, and in conclu-
sion, at the ill which thou hast done be troubled,
and rejoice for the good."

Our thoughts on present things being determined
by the objects before us, fall not under those indul-
gences, or excursions, whicii I am now considering.
But I cannot forbear, under this head, to caution
pious and tender minds, tliat are disturbed by the
irruptions of wicked imaginations, against too great
dejection and too anxious alarms ; for tht)Ughts are

110 RAMBLER. NO. 8.

only criminal, when thej are first chosen, and then
voluntarily continued.

Evil into the mind of God or man

May come and go, so unapproved, and leave

No spot or blame behind. milton's. p. l. iii. 117.

In futurity chiefly the snares are lodged, by which
the imagination is entangled. Futurity is the proper
abode of hope and fear, with all their train and prog-
eny of subordinate apprehensions and desires. In
futurity events and chances are yet floating at large,
without apparent connection with their causes, and
we, therefore, easily indulge the liberty of gratifying
ourselves with a pleasing choice. To pick and cull
among possible advantages is, as the civil law terms
it, in vacuum veriire to take what belongs to nobody ;
but it has this hazard in it, that we shall be un-
willing to quit what we have seized though an
owner should be found. It is easy to think on that
which may be gained, till at last we resolve to gain
it, and to image the happiness of particular condi-
tions till we can be easy in no other. We ought,
at least, to let our desires fix upon nothing in an-
other's power for the sake of our quiet, or in another's
possession for the sake of our innocence. When a
man finds himself led, though by a train of honest
sentiments, to wish for that to which he has no right,
he should start back as from a pitfall covered with
flowers. He that fancies he should benefit the
public more in a great station than the man that
fills it, will in time imagine it an act of virtue to
supplant him ; and as opposition readily kindles into
hatred, his eagerness to do that good, to which he
is not called, will betray him to crimes, w'hich, in his
original scheme were never proposed.

He, therefore, that would govern his actions by

NO. 9. RAMBLER. Ill

the laws of virtue, must regulate his thoughts by
those of reason ; he must keep guilt from the re-
cesses of his heart, and remember that the pleasures
of fancj, and the emotions of desire, are more
dangerous as they are more hidden, since they
escape the awe of observation, and operate equally
in every situation, without the concurrence of exter-
nal opportunities.

No. 9. TUESDAY, APRIL 17, 1750.

Quod sis esse veils, nihilque malis.

Choose what you are ; no other state prefer.

ELPIIINSTON.

It is justly remarked by Horace, that howsoever
every man may complain occasionally of the hard-
ships of his condition, he is seldom williiig to change
it for any other on the same level ; for whether it
be that he, who follows an employment, made choice
of it at first on account of its suitableness to his in-
clination ; or that when accident, or the determina-
tion of others, have placed him in a particular
station, he, by endeavouring to reconcile himself to
it, gets the custom of viewing it only on the fairest
side ; or whether every man thinks that class to
which he belongs the most illustrious, merely be-
cause he has honoured it with his name ; it is cer-
tain that, wliatever be the reason, most men have a
very strong and active prejudice in favour of their

112 RAMBLER. NO. 9.

own vocation, always working upon their minds, and
influencing their behaviour.

This partiality is sufficiently visible in every rank
of the human species ; but it exerts itself more fre-
quently and with greater force among those who
have never learned to conceal their sentiments for
reasons of policy, or to model their expi-essions by
the laws of politeness^ and, therefore, the chief con-
tests of wit among artificers and handicraftsmen
arise from a mutual endeavour to exalt one trade by
depreciating another.

From the same principle are derived many con-
solations to alleviate the incojiveniencies to which
every calling is peculiarly exposed. A blacksmith
was lately pleasing himself at his anvil, with ob-
serving that, though his trade was hot and sooty,
laborious and unhealthy, yet he had the honour of
living by his hammer, he got his bread like a man,
and if his son should rise in the world, and keep his
coach, nobody could reproach him that his father
was a tailor.

A man, truly zealous for his fraternity, is never
so irresistibly flattered, as when some rival calling is
mentioned with contempt. Upon this principle, a
linen-draper boasted that he had got a new customer,
whom he could safely trust, for he could have no
doubt of his honesty, since it was known, from un-
questionable authority, that he was now filing a bill
in chancery to delay payment for the clothes which
he had worn the last seven years ; and he himself
had heard him declare, in a public coffee-house,
that he looked upon the whole generation of woollen-
drapers to be such despicable wretches, that no
gentleman ought to pay them.

It has been observed that physicians and lawyers
are no friends to religion ; and many conjectures

NO. 9. RAMBLtll. 113

have been formed to discover the reason of such a
combination between men who agree in nothing else,
and who seem less to be affected, in their own prov-
inces, by religious opinions, than any other part of
the community. The truth is, very few of them
have thought about religion ; but they have all seen
a parson ; seen him in a habit different from tluMr
own, and, therefore, declared' war agamst him. A
young student from the inns of court, who has often
attacked the curate of his father's parish with such
arguments as his acquaintances could furnish, and
returned to town without success, is now gone down
with a resolution to destroy him ; for he has learned
at last how to manage a prig, and if he pretends to
hold him again to syllogism, he has a catch in re-
serve, which neither logic nor metaphysics can
resi'it.

I laus;h to think how your unshaken Cato
Will look aghast, when unforeseen destruction
Pours in upon him thus.

The malign it v of soldiers and sailors against each
other has been often experienced at the cost of their
country, and, perhaps, no orders of men have an
enmity of more acrimony, or longer continuance.
When, upon our late successes at sea, some new reg-
ulations were concerted for establishing the rank
of the naval commanders, a captain of foot very
acutely remarked, that nothing was more absurd
than to give any honorary rewards to seamen, " for
honour," says he, " ought only to be won by bravery,
and all the world knows that in a sea-light there
is no danger, and, therefore, no evidence of courage."

But although this general desire of aggrandizing
themselves by raising their profession, betrays men
to a thousand ridiculous and mischievous acts of

VOL. XYI. 8

114 RAMBLER. NO. 9.

supplantation and detraction, yet as almost all pas-
sions have their good as well as bad effects, it like-
wise excites ingenuity, and sometimes raises an
honest and useful emulation of dihgence. It may
be observed in general, that no trade had ever
reached the excellence to which it is now im-
proved, had its professors looked upon it with the
eyes of indifferent spectators ; the advances, from
the first rude essays, must have been made by
men who valued themselves for performances, for
which scarce any other would be persuaded to
esteem them.

It is pleasing to contemplate a manufacture rising
gradually from its first mean state by the successive
labours of innumerable minds ; to consider the first
hollow trunk of an oak, in which, perhaps, the shep-
herd could scarce venture to cross a brook swelled
with a shower, enlarged at last into a ship of war,
attacking fortresses, terrifying nations, setting storms
and billows at defiance, and visiting the remotest
parts of the globe. And it might contribute to dis-
pose us to a kinder regard for the labours of one
another, if we were to consider from what unprom-
ising beginnings the most useful productions of art
have probably arisen. Who, when he saw the first
sand or ashes, by a casual intenseness of heat melted
into a metalline form, rugged with excrescences, and
clouded with impurities, would have imagined, that
in this shapeless lump lay concealed so many con-
veniences of life, as Avould in time constitute a great
part of the happiness of the world ? Yet, by some
such fortuitous liquefaction, was mankind taught to
procure a body at once in a high degree solid and
transparent, which might admit the light of the sun,
and exclude the violence of the wind ; which might
extend the sight of the philosopher to new ranges

NO. 9. RAMBLER. 115

of existence, and cliarni him at one time with the
unbounded extent of the material creation, and at
another with the endless subordination of animal
life ; and, what is yet of more importance, might
supply the decays of nature, and succour old age
with subsidiary sight. Thus was the first artificer
in glass employed, though without his own know-
ledge or expectation. He was facilitating and pro-
longing the enjoyment of light, enlarging the avenues
of science, and conferring the highest and most
lasting pleasures ; he was enabling the student to
contemplate nature; and the beauty to behold
herself.

This passion for the honour of a profession, like
tliat for the grandeur of our own country, is to be
regulated, not extinguished. Every man, from the
highest to the lowest station, ought to warm his
heart and animate his endeavours with the hopes
of being useful to the world, by advancing the art
which it is his lot to exercise ; and for that end he
must necessarily consider the whole extent of its
application, and the whole weight of its importance.
Hut let him not too readily imagine that another is
ill employed, because, for want of fuller knowledge
of his business, he is not able to comprehend its
dignity. Every man ought to endeavour at emi-
nence, not by pulling others down, but by raising
himself, and enjoy the pleasure of his own superi-
ority, whether imaginary or real, without interrupt-
ing others in the same felicity. The philosopher may
\cry justly be delighted with the extent of his views,
and the artificer with the readiness of his hands;
but let the one remember, that, without mechanical
ix'rformances, refined speculation is an empty dream,
and the other, that, witliout theoretical reasoning,
dexterity is little more than a brute instinct.

116 RAMBLER. NO. 10.

No. 10. SATURDAY, APRIL 21, 1750.

Posthabui iamen ilhrum mea seria ludo.

VIRG. ECL. vii. 17.

For trifling sports I quitted grave affairs.

The number of correspondents which increases
every day upon me, shows that my paper is at least
distinguished from the common productions of the
press. It is no less a proof of eminence to have
many enemies than many friends, and I look upon
every letter, whether it contains encomiums or re-
proaches, as an equal attestation of rising credit.
The only pain, which I can feel from my corre-
spondence, is the fear of disgusting those, whose
letters I shall neglect ; and, therefore, I take this
opportunity of reminding them, that in disapproving
their attempts, whenever it may happen, I only
return the treatment which I often receive. Be-
sides, many particular motives influence a writer,
known only to himself, or his private friends ; and
it may be justly concluded, that, not all letters which
are postponed are rejected, nor all that are rejected
critically condemned.

Having thus eased my heart of the only appre-
hension that sat heavy on it, I can please myself
with the candour of Benevolus, who encourages me
to proceed, without sinking under the anger of Flir-
tilla, who quarrels with me for being old and ugly,
and for wanting both activity of body and sprightli-
ness of mind ; feeds her monkey with my lucubra-

NO. 10. RAMBLER. 117

tions, and refuses any reconciliation, till I have
ap{)eared in vindication of masquerades. That she
may not, however, imagine me without support, and
left to rest wholly upon my own fortitude, I shall
now publish some letters which I have received
from men as well dressed, and as handsome, as her
favourite ; and others from ladies, whom I sincerely
believe as young, as rich, as gay, as pretty, as
fashionable, and as often toasted and treated as
herself.

" A set of candid readers send their respects to
The Rambler, and acknowledge his merit in so well
beginning a work that may be of public benefit.
But, superior as his genius is to the impertinences
of a tritiing age, they cannot help a wish, that he
would condescend to the weakness of minds soft-
ened by perpetual amusements, and now and then
throw in, like his predecessors, some papers of a
gay and humorous turn. Too fair a field now lies
open, with too plentiful a harvest of follies ! let the
cheerful Thalia put in her sickle, and, singing at
her work, deck her hair with red and blue."

'■J

" A lady sends her compliments to The Rambler,
and desires to know by what other name she may
direct to him ; what are his set of friends, his amuse-
ments ; what his way of thinking, with regard to the
living world, and its ways ; in short, whether he is
a person now alive, and in town ? If he be, she
will do herself the honour to write to him pretty
often, and hopes, from time to time, to be the better
for his advice and animadversions ; for his animad-
versions on her neighbours at least. But, if he is a
mere essayist, and troubles not himself with the
manners of the age, she is sorry to tell him, that

118 RAMBLER. NO. 10.

even the genius and correctness of an Addison will
not secure him from neglect."

No man is so much abstracted from common life,
as not to feel a particular pleasure from the regard
of the female world ; the candid writers of the first
billet will not be otfended, that my haste to satisfy
a lady has hurried their address too soon out of my
mind, and that I refer them for a reply to some
future paper, in order to tell this curious inquirer
after my other name, the answer of a philosopher
to a man, who, meeting him in the street desired to
see what he carried under his cloak ; " I carry it
there," says he, " that you may not see it." But,
though she is never to know my name, she may
often see my face ; for I am of her opinion, that a
diurnal writer ought to view the world, and that he
who neglects his contemporaries, may be, with jus-
tice, neglected by them.

" Lady Racket sends compliments to The Ram-
bler, and lets him know, she shall have cards at her
house, every Sunday, the remainder of the season,
where he will be sure of meeting all the good com-
pany in town. By this means she hopes to see his
papers interspersed with living characters. She
longs to see the torch of truth produced at an assem-
bly, and to admire the charming lustre it will throw
on the jewels, complexions, and behaviour, of every
dear creature there."

It is a rule with me to receive every offer with
the same civility as it is made; and, therefore,
though Lady Racket may have had some reason to
guess, that I seldom frequent card-tables on Sun-
days, I shall not insist upon an exception, which

NO. 10. RAMIJLER. 119

may to her appear of so little force. My business
has been to view, as oj)port unity was offered, every
place in which mankind was to be seen ; but at card-
tables, however brilliant, I have always thought my
visit lost, for I could know nothing of the company,
but their clothes and their faces. I saw their looks
clouded at the beginning of every game with an
uniform solicitude, now and then in its progress
varied with a short triumph, at one time wrinkled
with cunning, at another deadened with despond-
ency, or, by accident, flushed with rage at the un-
skilful or unlucky play of a partner. From such as-
semblies, in whatever humour I happened to enter
them, I was quickly forced to retire ; they were too
trifling for me, when I was grave, and too dull,
when I was cheerful.

Yet I cannot but value myself upon this token
of regard from a lady who is not afraid to stand be-
fore ' the torch of truth.' Let her not, however, con-
sult her curiosity more than her prudence ; but
reflect a moment on the fate of Semele, who might
have lived the favourite of Jupiter, if she could have
been content without his thunder. It is dangerous
for mortal beauty, or terrestrial virtue, to be ex-
amined by too strong a light. The torch of truth
shows much that we cannot, and all that we would
not see. In a face dimpled with smiles, it has often
discovered malevolence and envy, and detected
under jewels and brocade, the frightful forms of
poverty and distress. A fine hand of cards has
changed before it into a thousand spectres of sick-
ness, misery, and vexation ; and immense sums of
money, while the winner counted them with trans-
port, have, at the first glimpse of this unwelcome
lustre, vanished from before him. If her ladyship
therefore designs to continue her assembly, I would

120 RAMBLER. NO. 10,

advise her to shun such dangerous experiments, to
satisfy herself with common appearances, and to light
up her apartments rather with myrtle than the torch
of truth.

" A modest young man sends his service to the
author of The Rambler, and will be very willing to
assist him in his work, but is sadly afraid of being
discouraged by having his first essay rejected, a dis-
grace he has wofully experienced in every offer he
had made of it to every new writer of every new
paper ; but he comforts himself by thinking, with-
out vanity, that this has been from a peculiar fjivour
of the muses, who saved his performance from be-
ing buried in trash, and reserved it to appear with
lustre in The Rambler."

I am equally a friend to modesty and enter-
prise ; and, therefore, shall think it an honour to
correspond with a young man who possesses both in
so eminent a degree. Youth is, indeed, the time in
which these qualities ought chiefly to be found ;
modesty suits well with inexperience, and enterprise
with health and vigour, and an extensive prospect
of life. One of my predecessors has justly observed,
that though modesty has an amiable and winning
appearance, it ought not to hinder the exertion
of the active powers, but that a man should show,
under his blushes, a latent resolution. This point
of perfection, nice as it is, my correspondent seems
to have attained. That he is modest, his own dec-
laration may evince ; and, I think, the latent reso-
lution may be discovered in his letter by an acute
observer. I will advise him, since he so well de-
serves my precepts, not to be discouraged, though
The Rambler should prove equally envious, or taste-

NO. 10. RAMBLER. 121

less, with the rest of this fraternity. If his paper is
refused, the presses of EiigUiiid are open, let him
try the judgment of the public. If, as it has some-
times happened in general combinations against
merit, he cannot persuade the world to buy his
works, he may present them to his friends ; and if
his friends are seized with the epidemical infatua-
tion, and cannot find his genius, or will not confess
it, let him then refer his cause to posterity, and
reserve llis labours for a wiser age.

Thus have I dispatched some of my correspond-
ents in the usual manner, with fair w^ords, and gen-
eral civility. But to Flirtilla, the gay Flirtilla,
what shall I reply ? Unable as I am to fly, at her
command, over land and seas, or to supply her, from
week to week, with the fashions of Paris, or the
intrigues of Madrid, I am yet not willing to incur
her further displeasure, and would save my papers
from her monkey on any reasonable terms. By
what propitiation, therefore, may I atone for my
former gravity, and open, without trembling, the
future letters of this sprightly persecutor? To write
in defence of masquerades is no easy task ; yet some-
thing difficult and daring may well be required, as
the price of so important an approbation. I there-
fore consulted, in this great emergency, a man of
high reputation in gay life, who having added to
his other accomplishments no mean proficiency in
the miiuite i)hilosophy, after the fifth perusal of her
letter, broke out with rapture into tliese words:
' And can you, Mr. Rambler, stand out against this
charming creature? let her know, at least, that from
this moment Nigrinus devotes his life and his labours
to her service. Is there any stubborn prejudice of
education, that stands between thee and the most
amiable of mankind? Behold, Flirtilla, at thy feet,

122 RAMBLER. NO. 10.

a man grown gray in the study of those noble arts
by which right and wrong may be confounded ; by
which reason may be blinded, when we have a mind
to escape from her inspection ; and caprice and ap-
petite instated in uncontrolled command and bound-
less dominion ! Such a casuist may surely engage,
with certainty of success, in vindication of an enter-
tainment, which in an instant gives confidence to the
timorous, and kindless ardour in the cold ; an enter-
tainment where the vigilance of jealousy has so often
been eluded, and the virgin is set free from the ne-
cessity of languishing in silence ; where all the out-
works of chastity are at once demolished ; where the
heart is laid open without a blush ; where bash-
fulness may survive virtue, and no wish is crushed
under the frown of modesty. Far weaker infiuence
than Flirtilla's might gain over an advocate for such
amusements. It was declared by Pompey, that, if
the commonwealth was violated, he could stamp
with his foot, and raise an army out of the ground ;
if the rights of pleasure are again invaded, let but
Flirtilla crack her fan ; neither pens, nor swords,
shall be wanting at the summons ; the wit and the
colonel shall march out at her command, and neither
law nor reason shall stand before us.'

NO. 11. BAMBLER. 123

No. 11. TUESDAY, APRIL 24, 1750.

Non Dlndymene, non ndytis quntit
Mcntem sactrc/uttim incola Pytliiiis,
Non Liber ceque, non acuta
Sic ffeminant Corybantes CBi'a,

Tristes ut ivce. — hor. car. i. 16. 5.

Yet oh ! remember, nor the god of wine,

Nor Pytliian Phoebus from his inmost shrine,

Nor Dintlyraene, nor her priests possest.

Can with their sounding cymbals shake the breast.

Like furious anger. francis.

The maxim which Periander, of Corinth, one of
the seven sages of Greece, left as a memorial of his
knowledge and benevolence, was x^^^ov Kpurei, ' Be
master of thy anger.' He considered anger as the
great disturber of human life, the chief enemy
both of public hap[)iness and private tranquillity,
and thougiit tluit he could not lay on posterity a
stronger obligation to reverence his memory, than
by leaving them a salutary caution against this out-
rageous passion.

To what latitude Periander misrht extend the
word, tlie brevity of his precept will scarce allow us
to conjecture. From anger, in its full import, j)ro-
tracted into malevolence, and exerted in revenge,
arise, indeed, many of the evils to which the life of
man is exposed. By anger operating upon power
are prc^luced the subversion of cities, the desola-
tion of countries, the massacre of nations, and all
those dreadful and astonishing calamities whicii till
the histories of the world, and which could not be

124 RAMBLER. NO. 11.

read at any distant point of time, when the passions
stand neutral, and every motive and principle is left
to its natural force, without some doubt of the truth
of the relation, did we not see the same causes still
tending to the same effects, and only acting with
less vigour for want of the same concurrent oppor-
tunities.

But this gigantic and enormous species of anger
falls not properly under the animadversion of a
writer, whose chief end is the regulation of common
life, and whose precepts are to recommend them-
selves by their general use. Nor is this essay in-
tended to expose the tragical or fatal effects even
of private malignity. The anger which I propose
now for my subject is such as makes those who in-
dulge it more troublesome than formidable, and
ranks them rather with hornets and wasps, than
with basilisks and lions. I have, therefore, prefixed
a motto which characterizes this passion, not so
much by the mischief that it causes, as by the noise
that it utters.

There is in the world a certain class of mortals,
known, and contentedly known, by the appellation
of passionate men, who imagine themselves entitled
by that distinction to be provoked on every slight
occasion, and to vent their rage in vehement and
fierce vociferations, in furious menaces and licentious
reproaches. Their rage, indeed, for the most part,
fumes away in outcries of injury and protestations
of vengeance, and seldom proceeds to actual violence,
unless a drawer or link-boy falls in their way ; but
they interrupt the quiet of those that happen to
be within the reach of their clamours, obstruct the
course of conversation, and disturb the enjoyment
of society.

Men of this kind are sometimes not without un-

NO. 11. KAMBLER. 125

derstanding or virtue, and are, therefore, not always
treated with the severity which their neglect of the
ease of all about them might justly provoke ; they
have obtained a kind of prescription for their folly,
and are considered by their companions as under a
I)redominant influence that leaves them not masters
of their conduct or language, as acting without con-
sciousness, and rushing into mischief with a mist
before their eyes ; they are, therefore, pitied rather
than censured, and their sallies are passed over as
the involuntary blows of a man agitated by the
s{)asms of a convulsion.

It is surelv not to be observed without indiojnation,
that men mav be found of minds mean enou^^h to
be satisfied with this treatment ; wretches who are
proud to obtain the privilege of madmen, and can,
without shame, and without regret, consider them-
selves, as receiving hourly pardons from their com-
panions, and giving them continual opportunities
of exercising their patience, and boasting their
clemency.

Pride is, undoubtedly, the original of anger; but
})ride, like every other passion, if it once breaks
loose from reason, counteracts its own purposes. A
passionate man, upon the review of his day, will
have very few gratifications to offer to his pride,
when he has considered how his outrages were
caused, why they were borne, and in what they are
likely to end at last.

Tliose sudden bursts of rage generally break out
upon small occasions ; for life, unhappy as it is, can-
not supply great evils as frequently as the nlan of
fire thinks it fit to be enraged ; therefore, the first
refiection upon his violence must show him that he
is mean enough to be driven from iiis [jost by every
petty incident, tiiat he is the mere slave of casualty,

126 RAMBLER. NO. 11.

and that his reason and virtue are in the power of
the wind.

One motive there is of these loud extravagances,
which a man is careful to conceal from others, and
does not always discover to himself. He that finds
his knowledge narrow, and his arguments weak, and
by consequence his suffrage not much regarded, is
sometimes in hope of gaining that attention, by his
clamours, which he cannot otherwise obtain, and is
pleased with remembering that at least he made
himself heard, that he had the power to interrupt
those whom he could not confute, and suspend the
decision which he could not guide.

Of this kind is the fury to which many men give
way among their servants and domestics ; they feel
their own ignorance, they see their own insigni-
ficance, and, therefore, they endeavour, by their
fury, to fright away contempt from before them,
when they know it must follow them behind ; and
think themselves eminently masters, when they see
one folly tamely complied with, only lest refusal or
delay should provoke them to a greater.

These temptations cannot but be owned to have
some force. It is so little pleasing to any man to
see himself wholly overlooked in the mass of things,
that he may be allowed to try a few expedients for
procuring some kind of supplemental dignity, and
use some endeavour to add weight, by the violence
of his temper, to the lightness of his other powers.
But this has now been long practised, and found,
upon the most exact estimate, not to produce advan-
tages equal to its inconveniences ; for it appears not
that a man can by uproar, tumult, and bluster, alter
any one's opinion of his understanding, or gain in-
fluence except over those whom fortune or nature
have made his dependents. He may, by a steady

NO. 11. RAMBLER. 127

perseverance in his ferocity, fright Iiis children and
harass his servants, but the rest of the world will
look on and lauah ; and he will have the comfort at
last of thinking, that he lives only to raise contempt
and hatred, emotions to which wisdom and virtue
would be always unwilling to give occasion. lie
has contrived only to make those fear him, whom
every reasonable being is endeavouring to endear
by kindness, and must content himself with the
pleasure of a triumph obtained by trampling on
them who could not resist. He must perceive that
the apprehension which his presence causes is not
the awe of his virtue, but the dread of his bru-
tality, and that he has given up the felicity of
being loved, without gaining the honour of being
reverenced.

But this is not the only ill consequence of the fre-
quent indulgence of this blustering passion, which a
man, by often calling to his assistance, will teach, in
a short time, to intrude before the summons, to rush
upon him with resistless violence, and without any
previous notice of its approach. He will find him-
self lialjle to be inflamed at the first touch of provo-
cation, and unable to retain his resentment till he
has a full conviction of the offence, to proportion his
anger to the cause, or to regulate it by prudence or
by duty. When a man has once suffered his mind
to be thus vitiated, he becomes one of the most
hateful and unhappy beings. He can give no secur-
itv to himself that he shall not, at the next inter-
view, alienate by some sudden transport his dearest
friend; or break out, upon some slight contradiction,
into such terms of rudeness as can never be j)erfectly
forgotten. Whoever converses with him, lives with
the sus[)icion and solicitude of a man that plays with
a tame tiger, always under a necessity of watching

128 RAMBLER. NO. 11.

the moment in which the capricious savage shall
begin to growl.

It is told by Prior, in a panegyric on the Earl of
Dorset, that his servants used to put themselves in
his way when he was angry, because he was sure
to recompense them for any indignities which he
made them suffer. This is the round of a pas-
sionate man's life ; he contracts debts when he is
furious, which his virtue, if he has virtue, obliges
him to discharge at the return of reason. He spends
his time in outrage and acknowledgment, injury and
reparation. Or, if there be any w^ho hardens him-
self in oppression, and justifies the wrong, because
he has done it, his insensibility can make small part
of his praise, or his happiness ; he only adds delib-
erate to hasty folly, aggravates petulance by con-
tumacy, and destroys the only plea that he can offer
for the tenderness and patience of mankind.

Yet, even this degree of depravity w^e may be con-
tent to pity, because it seldom wants a punishment
equal to its guilt. Nothing is more despicable or
more miserable than the old age of a passionate man.
"When the vigour of youth fails him, and his amuse-
ments pall with frequent repetition, his occasional
rage sinks by decay of strength into peevishness ; that
peevishness, for want of novelty and variety, becomes
habitual ; the w^orld falls off from around him ; and he
is left, as Homer expresses it, (i)tvv^uv (piTiov ktjp, to
devour his own heart in solitude and contempt.

NO. 12. RAMBLER. 129

No. 12. SATURDAY, APRIL 28, 1750.

— Miserum pared stipe focilat, ut pudibundos

Exercere sales inter convivia possit. —

— Tu mitis, et acri

Asperitate carens, posiioque per omnia Jasiu,

Inter ut cequales unus numeraris amicos,

Obsequiunique doces, et amorem quceris amando.

L.UCAXUS AD PISONEM.

Unlike the ribald, -whose licentious jest

Pollutes his banquet, and insults his guest;

From wealth and grandeur easy to descend,

Thou joy'st to lose the master in the friend:

We round thy board the cheerful menials see,

Gay with the smile of bland equality;

No social care the gracious lord disdains,

Love prompts to love, and reverence reverence gains.

" TO THE RAMBLER.
" SIR,

" As you seem to have devoted your labours to
virtue, I cannot forbear to inform you of one species
of cruelty with which the life of a man of letters,
perhaps, does not often make him acquainted ; and
whicli^ as it seems to produce no other advantage to
those that practise it than a short gratification of
thoughtless vanity, may become less common when
it has been once exposed in its various forms, and
its full magnitude.

" I am the daugliter of a country gentleman, whose
family is numerous, and whose estate, not at first
sutficient to supply us with affluence, has been lately
so much impaired by an unsuccessful lawsuit-, that
all the younger children are obliged to try such

VOL. XVI. 9

130 RAMBLER. . NO. 12.

means as their education affords them, for procuring
the necessaries of life. Distress and curiosity con-
curred to bring me to London, where I was received
by a relation with the coldness which misfortune
generally finds. A week, a long week, I lived with
my cousin, before the most vigilant inquiry could
procure us the least hopes of a place, in which time
I was much better qualified to bear all the vexations
of servitude. The first two days she was content
to pity me, and only wished I had not been quite so
well bred; but people must comply with their cir-
cumstances. This lenity, however, was soon at an
end ; and, for the remaining part of the week, I
heard every hour of the pride of my family, the
obstinacy of my father, and of people better born
than myself that were common servants.

" At last, on Saturday noon, she told me, with
very visible satisfaction, that Mrs. Bombasine, the
great silk -mercer's lady, wanted a maid, and a fine
place it would be, for there would be nothing to do
but to clean my mistress's room, get up her linen,
dress the young ladies, wait at tea in the morning,
take care of a little miss just come from nurse, and
then sit down to my needle. But madam was a
woman of great spirit, and would not be contradicted,
and therefore I should take care, for good places
were not easily to be got.

" With these cautions I waited on Madam Bom-
basine, of whom the first sight gave me no ravish-
ing ideas. She was two yards round the waist, her
voice was at once loud and squeaking, and her face
brought to my mind the picture of the full moon.
Are you the young woman, says she, that are come
to offer yourself? It is strange when people of sub-
stance want a servant, how soon it is the towntalk.
But they know they shall have a bellyful! that live

NO. 12. RAMBLER. 131

with me. Not like people at the other end of the
town, we dine at one o'clock. But I never take
anybody without a character; what friends do you
come of? I then told her that my father was a gen-
tleman, and that we had been unfortunate. — A great
misfortune, indeed, to come to me, and have three
meals a-day ! — So your father was a gentleman, and
you are a gentlewoman I suppose — such gentle-
women ! — Madam, I did not mean to claim any
exemptions, I only answered your inquiry. — Such
gentlewomen! people should set their children to
good trades, and keep them off the parish. Pray,
go to the other end of the town, there are gentle-
women, if they would pay their debts : I am sure we
Iiave lost enough by gentlewomen. Upon this, her
broad face grew broader with triumph, and I was
afraid she would have taken me for the pleasure of
continuing her insult ; but, happily, the next word
was Pray, Mrs. Gentlewoman, troop down stairs.
You may believe I obeyed her.

" I returned and met with a better reception from
my cousin than I expected ; for while I was out, she
had heard that Mrs. Standish, whose husband had
lately been raised from a clerk in an otUce, to be a
commissioner of the excise, had taken a tine house,
and wanted a maid.

"To Mrs. Standish I went, and, after having
waited six hours, was at last admitted to the top of
the stairs, when she came out of her room with two
of her company. There was a smell of punch. So,
young woman, you want a jjlace, whence do you
come ? From the country, madam. — Yes, they all
come out of the country. And what brought you
to town ? a bastard ? where do you lodge ? at the
Seven-Dials? What, you never heard of the found-
ling-house ! Upon this, they all laughed so obstrep-

132 RAMBLER. NO. 12.

erously, that I took the opportunity of sneaking off
in the tumult.

" I then heard of a place at an elderly lady's. She
was at cards ; but, in two hours, I was told, she
would speak to me. She asked me if I could keep
an account, and ordered me to write. I wrote two
lines out of some book that lay by her. She won-
dered what people meant, to breed up poor girls to
write at that rate. I suppose, Mrs. Flirt, if I was
to see your work, it would be fine stuff! — You may
walk. I will not have love-letters written from my
house to every young fellow in the street.

" Two days after, I went on the same pursuit to
Lady Lofty, dressed, as I was directed, in what little
ornaments I had, because she had lately got a place
at court. Upon the first sight of me, she turns to
the woman that showed me in, is this the lady that
wants a place ? Pray, what place would you have,
Miss ? a maid of honour's place ? Servants nowa-
days ! — Madam, I heard you wanted — Wanted what
— Somebody finer than myself! A pretty servant,
indeed — I should be afraid to speak to her — I sup-
pose, Mrs. Minx, these fine hands cannot bear wet-
ting— A servant, indeed ! Pray, move off — I am

resolved to be the head person in this house.

You are ready dress'd, the taverns will be open.

" I went to inquire for the next place in a clean
linen gown, and heard the servant tell his lady, there
was a young woman, but he saw she would not do.
I was brought up, however. Are you the trollop
that has the impudence to come for my place ?
What, you have hired that nasty gown, and are
come to steal a better ! — Madam, I have another, but
being obliged to walk — Then these are your man-
ners, with your blushes, and your courtesies, to come
to me in your worst gown. — Madam, give me leave

NO. 12. RAMBLER. 133

to wait upon you in my other. — Wait on me, you
saucy slut ! Then you are sure of coming — I could
not let such a drab come near me — Here, you girl,
that came up with her, have you touched her? If
you liave, wash your hands before you dress me —
Such trollops ! Get you down. What, whimpering?
Pray walk.

" I went away with tears ; for my cousin had lost
all patience. However, she told me that, having a
respect for my relations, she was willing to keep
me out of the street, and would let me have another
week.

" The first day of this week I saw two places. At
one, I was asked where I had lived ? And upon my
answer, was told by the lady, that people should
qualify themselves in ordinary places, for she should
never have done if she was to follow girls about.
At the other house, I was a smirking hussy, and that
sweet face I might make money of — For her part, it
was a rule with her never to take any creature that
thought herself handsome.

" The three next days were spent in Lady Bluff's
entry, where I waited six hours every day for the
pleasure of seeing the servants peep at me, and go

awav lauo^hintT Madam will stretch her small

shanks in the entry ; she will know the house

again. At sunset the first two days, I was told

that my lady would see me to-morrow, and on the
third, that her woman stayed.

" My week was now near its end, and I had no
hopes of a place. My relation, who always laid
upon me the blame of every miscarriage, told me
that I must learn to humble myself, and that all
great ladies had particular ways ; and if I went on
in that manner, she could not tell who would keep
me ; she had known many who had refused places,
sell their clothes, and beg iu the streets.

134 RAMBLER. NO. 12.

" It was to no purpose that the refusal was de-
clared by me to be never on my side ; I was reason-
ing agahist interest, and against stupidity; and
therefore I comforted myself with the hope of suc-
ceeding better in my next attempt, and went to Mrs.
Courtly, a very fine lady, who had routs at her house,
and saw the best company in town.

" I had not waited two hours before I was called
up, and found Mr. Courtly and his lady at piquet,
in the height of good-humour. This I looked on as
a favourable sign, and stood at the lower end of the
room in expectation of the common questions. At
last, Mr. Courtly called out, after a whisper, Stand
facing the light, that one may see you. I changed
my place, and blushed. They frequently turned
their eyes upon me, and seemed to discover many
subjects of merriment ; for at every look they whis-
pered, and laughed with the most violent agitations
of delight. At last, Mr. Courtly cried out. Is that
colour your own, child? Yes, says the lady, if she
has not robbed the kitchen hearth. This was so
happy a conceit, that it renewed the storm of laugh-
ter, and they threw down their cards in hopes of
better sport. The lady then called me to her, and
began with an affected gravity to inquire what I
could do ? But first turn about, and let us see your
fine shape : Well, what are you fit for, Mrs. Mum ?
You would find your tongue, I suppose, in the
kitchen. No, no, says Mr. Courtly, the girl's a good
girl yet, but I am afraid a brisk young fellow, with
fine tags on his shoulder — Come, child, hold up your

head; what? you have stole nothing Not yet,

says the lady, but she hopes to steal your heart
quickly — Here was a laugh of happiness and tri-
umph, prolonged by the confusion which I could no
longer repress. At last, the lady recollected her-

NO. 12. RAMBLER. 135

self: Stole? no — but if I luid her, I should watch
her ; for thiit downcast eye — Why cannot you look
people in the face ? — Steal ! says her husband, she
would steal nothing but, perhaps, a few ribbons be-
fore they were left off by her lady. — Sir, answered
I, why should you, by supposing me a thief, insult
one from whom you have received no injury? — In-
sult, says the lady ; are you come here to be a servant,
you saucy baggage, and talk of insulting ? What will
this world come to, if a gentleman may not jest with
a servant ? Well, such servants ! pray be gone, and
see when you will have the honour to be so insulted
again. Servants insulted — a fine time. Insulted 1
get down stairs, you slut, or the footman shall insult
you.

" The last day of the last week was now coming,
and my kind cousin talked of sending me down in
the wagon to preserve me from bad courses. But
in the morning she came and told me that she had
one trial more for me ; Euphemia wanted a maid,
and perliaps I might do for her; for, like me, she
must fall her crest, being forced to lay down her
chariot upon the loss of half her fortune by bad
securities, and, with her way of giving her money to
everybody that pretended to want it, she could have
little beforehand; therefore I might serve her ; for,
with all her fine sense, she must not pretend to
be nice.

" I went immediately, and met at the door a young
gentlewoman, who told me she had herself been
hired that morning, but that she was ordered to bring
any that offered up stairs. I was accordingly intro-
duced to Euphemia, who, when I came in, laid down
her book, and told me, that she sent for me not to
gratify an idle curiosity, but lest my disappointment
might be made still more grating by incivility ; that

136 RAMBLER. NO. 13.

she was in pain to deny any thing, much more what
was no favour ; that she saw nothing in my appear-
ance which did not make her wish for my company ;
but that another, whose claims might perhaps be
equal, had come before me. The thought of being
so near to such a place, and missing it, brought tears
into my eyes, and my sobs hindered me from return-
ing my acknowledgments. She rose up confused,
and supposing by my concern that I was distressed,
placed me by her, and made me tell her my story ;
which, when she had heard, she put two guineas in
my hand, ordering me to lodge near her, and make
use of her table till she could provide for me. I am
now under her protection, and know not how to
show my gratitude better than by giving this account
to The Rambler.

« ZOSIMA."

No. 13. TUESDAY, MAY 1, 1750.

Commissumque teges, et vino tortus et ird.

HOK. EPIST. i. 18. 39.

And let not wine or anger wrest

Th.' intrusted secret from your breast. fkancis.

It is related by Quintus Curtius, that the Per-
sians always conceived an invincible contempt of a
man who had violated the laws of secrecy ; for they
thought, that, however he might be deficient in the
qualities requisite to actual excellence, the negative
virtues at least were in his power, and though he

NO. 13. RAMBLER. 137

perhaps, could not speak well if he was to try, it was
still easy for him not to speak.

In forming this opinion of the easiness of secrecy,
they seem to have considered it as opposed, not to
treachery, but loquacity, and to have conceived the
man, whom they thus censured, not frighted by men-
aces to reveal, or bribed by promises to betray, but
incited by the mere pleasure of talking, or some
other motive equally trifling, to lay open his heart
without reflection, and to let whatever he knew slip
from him only for want of power to retain it. Whe-
ther, by their settled and avowed scorn of thought-
less talker^ the Persians were able to diffuse, to any
great extent, the virtue of taciturnity, we are hin-
dered by the distance of those times from being able
to discover, there being very few memoirs remaining
of the court of Persepolis, nor any distinct accounts
handed down to us of their ofiice clerks, their ladies
of the bedchamber, their attorneys, their chamber-
maids, or their footmen.

In these latter ages, though the old animosity
against a prattler is still retained, it appears wholly
to have lost its effects upon the conduct of man-
kind ; for secrets are so seldom kept, that it may
with some reason be doubted, whether the ancients
were not mistaken in their first postulate, whether
the quality of retention be so generally bestowed,
and wiicther a secret has not some subtle volatility,
by which it escapes imperceptibly at the smallest
vent, or some power of fermentation, by which it
expands itself so as to burst the heart that will not
give it way.

Those that study either the body or the mind of
man, very often And the most specious and [)leasing
theory falling under the weight of contrary experi-
ence ; and, instead of gratifying their vanity by in-

138 RAMBLER. NO. 13.

ferring effects from causes, they are always reduced
at last to conjecture causes from effects. That it is
easy to be secret, the speculatist can demonstrate in
his retreat, and therefore thinks himself justified in
placing confidence ; the man of the world knows,
that, whether difficult or not, it is uncommon, and
therefore finds himself rather inclined to search
after the reason of this universal failure in one of
the most important duties of society.

The vanity of being known to be trusted with a
secret is generally one of the chief motives to dis-
close it ; for, however absurd it may be thought to
boast an honour by an act which shows that it was
conferred without merit, yet most men seem rather
inclined to confess the want of virtue than of impor-
tance, and more willingly show their influence, though
at the expense of their probity, than glide through
life with no other pleasure than the private con-
sciousness of fidelity ; which, while it is preserved,
must be without praise, except from the single per-
son who tries and knows it.

There are many ways of telling a secret, by which
a man exempts himself from the reproaches of his
conscience, and gratifies his pride, without suffering
himself to believe that he impairs his virtue. He
tells the private affairs of his patron, or his friend,
only to those from whom he would not conceal his
own ; he tells them to those, who have no tempta-
tion to betray the trust, or with a denunciation of a
certain forfeiture of his friendship, if he discovers
that they become public.

Secrets are very frequently told in the first ardour
of kindness, or of love, for the sake of proving, by
so important a sacrifice, sincerity or tenderness ; but
with this motive, though it be strong in itself, van-
ity concurs, since every man desires to be most

NO. 13. RAMBLER. 130

esteemed by those whom he loves, or with whom
be converses, with whom he passes his hours ot
pleasure, and to whom he retires from busmess and

from care. . ^ . ,

When the discovery of secrets is under considera-
tion, there is always a distinction carefully to be
made between our own and those ot another ; those
of whicli we are fully masters as they affect only
our own interest, and those which are reposited
with us in trust, and involve the happiness or con-
venience of such as we have no right to expose to
hazard To tell our own secrets is generally tolly,
but that folly is without guilt; to communicate
those with which we are intrusted is always treach-
ery; and treachery, for the most part, combmed

with folly. . . . „,^ 1

There have, indeed, been some enthusiastic and

irrational zealots for friendship, who have main-
tained and perhaps believed, that one fnend has a
ricrht to all that is in possession of another ; and that
th^erefore it is a violation of kindness to exempt any
secret from this boundless confidence. Accordingly,
a late female minister of state has been shameless
enou-h to inform the world, that she used, when she
wanted to extract any thing from her sovereign, to
remind her of Montaigne's reasoning, who has de-
termined, that to tell a secret to a friend is no breach
of fidelity, because the number of persons trusted is
not multiplied, a man and his friend being virtually

the same. ,

That such a fallacy could be imposed upon any
human understanding, or that an author could have
advanccHl a position so remote from truth and rea-
son, any other ways than as a declaimer, to show to
what extent he could stretch his imagination, and
with what strength he could press his principle,

140 RAMBLER. NO. 13.

would scarcely have been credible, had not this lady
kindly shown us how far weakness may be deluded,
or indolence amused. But since it appears, that
even this sophistry has been able, with the help of
a strong desire to repose in quiet upon the under-
standing of another, to mislead honest intentions, and
an understanding not contemptible, it may not be
superfluous to remark, that those things which are
common among friends are only such as either pos-
sesses in his own right, and can alienate or destroy
without injury to any other person. Without this
limitation, confidence must run on without end, the
second person may tell the secret to the third, upon
the same principle as he received it from the first,
and the third may hand it forward to a fourth,
till at last it is told in the round of friendship to
them from whom it was the first intention to con-
ceal it.

The confidence which Caius has of the faithful-
ness of Titius is nothing more than an opinion which
himself cannot know to be true, and which Claudius,
who first tells his secret to Caius, may know to be
false ; and therefore the trust is transferred by Caius,
if he reveal what has been told him, to one from
whom the person originally concerned would have
withheld it ; and whatever may be the event, Caius
has hazarded the happiness of his friend, without
necessity and without permission, and has put that
trust in the hand of fortune which was given only
to virtue.

All the arguments upon which a man who is
telling the private affairs of another may ground his
confidence of security, he must, upon reflection, know
to be uncertain, because he finds them without effect
upon himself When he is imagining that Titius
will be cautious from a regard to his interest, his

NO. 13. RAMBLER. 141

reputation, or his duty, he ought to reflect that he
is himself at that instant acting in opposition to all
these reasons, and revealing what interest, reputa-
tion, and duty, direct him to conceal.

Every one feels that in his own case he should
consider the man incapable of trust, who believed
himself at liberty to tell whatever he knew to the
first whom he should conclude deserving of his con-
fidence ; therefore Caius, in admitting Titius to the
affairs imparted only to himself, must know that he
violates his faith, since he acts contrary to the inten-
tion of Claudius, to whom that faith was given. For
promises of friendship are, like all others, useless
and vain, unless they are made in some known
sense, adjusted and acknowledged by both parties.

I am not ignorant that many questions may be
started relating to the duty of secrecy, where the
affairs are of public concern ; where subsequent rea-
sons may arise to alter the appearance and nature
of the trust ; that the manner in which the secret
was told may change the degree of obligation ; and
that the principles upon which a man is chosen for
a confidant may not always equally constrain him.
But these scruples, if not too intricate, are of too
extensive consideration for my present purpose, nor
are they such as generally occur in common life ;
and though casuistical knowledge be useful in proper
hands, yet it ought by no means to be carelessly
exposed, since most will use it rather to lull than
awaken their own consciences ; and the threads of
reasoning, on which truth is suspended, are fre-
quently drawn to such subtility, that common eyes
cannot perceive, and common sensibility cannot feel
them.

The whole doctrine, as well as practice of secrecy,
is so perplexing and dangerous, that, next to him

142 RAMBLER. NO. 13.

who is compelled to trust, I think him unhappy who
is chosen to be trusted ; for he is often involved in
scruples without the liberty of calling in the help of
any other understanding; he is frequently drawn
into guilt, under the appearance of friendship and
honesty ; and sometimes subjected to suspicion by
the treachery of others, who are engaged without
his knowledge in the same schemes ; for he that has
one confidant has generally more, and when he is
at last betrayed, is in doubt on whom he shall fix
the crime.

The rules, therefore, that I shall propose con-
cerning secrecy, and from which I think it not safe
to deviate, without long and exact deliberation,
are : Never to solicit the knowledge of a secret.
Not willingly, nor without many limitations, to ac-
cept such confidence when it is offered. When a
secret is once admitted, to consider the trust as of a
very high nature, important as society, and sacred
as truth, and therefore not to be violated for any
incidental convenience, or slight appearance of con-
trary fitness.

NO. 14. RAMBLER. 143

No. 14. SATURDAY, MAY 5, 1750.

— Nil fuit unquam
Sic dispar sibi. —

Sure such a various creature ne'er was known.

FRANCIS.

Among the many inconsistencies which folly pro-
duces or infirmity suffers in the human mind, there
has often been observed a manifest and striking
contrariety between the life of an author and his
writings ; and Milton, in a letter to a learned stranger
by whom he had been visited, with great reason
congratulates himself upon the consciousness of
being found equal to his own character, and having
preserved, in a private and familiar interview, that
reputation which his works had procured him.

Those whom the appearance of virtue, or the evi-
dence of genius, have tempted to a nearer knowledge
of the writer in whose performances they may be
found, have, indeed, had frequent reason to repent
their curiosity ; the bubble that sparkled before them
has become common water at the touch; the phan-
tom of perfection has vanished when they wished to
press it to their bosom. They have lost the pleasure
of imagining how far humanity may be exalted, and,
perhaps, felt themselves less inclined to toil up the
steeps of virtue, when they observe those who
seem best able to point the way, loitering below,
as either afraid of the labour, or doubtful of the
reward.

144 ' RAMBLER. NO. 14.

It has been long the custom of the oriental mon-
archs to hide themselves in gardens and palaces,
to avoid the conversation of mankind, and to be
known to their subjects only by their edicts. The
same policy is no less necessary to him that writes,
than to him that governs ; for men would not more
patiently submit to be taught, than commanded, by
one known to have the same follies and weaknesses
with themselves. A sudden intruder into the closet
of an author, would, perhaps, feel equal indignation
with the officer, who having long solicited admission
into the presence of Sardanapalus, saw him not con-
sulting upon laws, inquiring into grievances, or
modelling armies, but employed in feminine amuse-
ments, and directing the ladies in their work.

It is not difficult to conceive, however, that for
many reasons a man writes much better than he
lives. For, without entering into refined specula-
tions, it may be shown much easier to design than
to perform. A man proposes his schemes of life in
a state of abstraction and disengagement, exempt
from the enticements of hope, the solicitations of
affection, the importunities of appetite, or the de-
pressions of fear ; and is in the same state with him
that teaches upon land the art of navigation, to
whom the sea is always smooth, and the wind always
prosperous.

The mathematicians are well acquainted with the
difference between pure science, which has to do
only with ideas, and the application of its laws to
the use of life, in which they are constrained to sub-
mit to the imperfection of matter and the influence
of accidents. Thus, in moral discussions, it is to be
remembered that many impediments obstruct our
practice, which very easily give way to theory. The
speculatist is only in danger of erroneous reasoning,

NO. 14. RAMBLER. 145

but the man involved in life has his own passions,
and those of others, to encounter, and is embarrassed
with a thousand inconveniences, which confound
him with variety of impulse, and either perplex or
obstruct his way. He is forced to act without delib-
eration, and obliged to choose before he can exam-
ine ; he is surprised by sudden alterations of the
state of things, and changes his measures according
to superficial appearances ; he is led by others,,
either because he is indolent, or because he is
timorous ; he is sometimes afraid to know what is
right, and sometimes finds friends or enemies diligent*
to deceive him.

We are, therefore, not to wonder that most fail,
amidst tumult, and snares, and danger, in the ob-
servance of those precepts, which they lay down in
solitude, safety, and tranquillity, with a mind un-
biased, and with liberty unobstructed. It is the
condition of our present state to see more than we
can attain ; the exactest vigilance and caution can
never maintain a single day of unmingled innocence,
much less can the utmost effbrts of incorporated
mind reach the summits of speculative virtue.

It is, however, necessary for the idea of perfec-
tion to be proposed, that we may have some object
to which our endeavours are to be directed ; and he
that is most deficient in the duties of life, makes
some atonement for his faults, if he warns others
against his own failings, and hinders, by the salu-
brity of his admonitions, the contagion of his ex-
am})le.

Nothing is more unjust, however common, than
to cliarge with liypocrisy him that expresses zeal
for those virtues which he neglects to practise ; since
he may be sincerely convinced of the advantages of
conquering his passions, witliout having yet obtained

VOL. XVI. 10

14.6 RAMBLER. NO. li.

the victory, as a man may be confident of the ad-
vantages of a voyage, or a journey, without having
courage or industry to undertake it, and may hon-
estly recommend to others, those attempts which
he neglects himself.

The interest which the corrupt part of mankind .
have in hardening themselves against every motive
to amendment, has disposed them to give to these
contradiction, when they can be produced against
the cause of virtue, that weight which they will not
allow them in any other case. They see men act
in opposition to their interest, without supposing
that they do not know it ; those who give way to the
sudden violence of passion, and forsake the most
important pursuits for petty pleasures, are not sup-
posed to have changed their opinions, or to approve
their own conduct. In moral or religious questions
alone they determine the sentiments by the actions,
and charge every man with endeavouring to impose
upon the world, whose writings are not confirmed
by his life. They never consider that themselves
neglect or practise something every day inconsist-
ently with their own settled judgment, nor discover
that the conduct of the advocates for virtue can little
increase, or lessen, the obligations of their dictates ;
argument is to be invalidated only by argument,
and is in itself of the same force, whether or not it
convinces him by whom it is proposed.

Yet since this prejudice, however unreasonable,
is always likely to have some prevalence, it is the
duty of every man to take care lest he should hinder
the efficacy of his own instructions. When he de-
sires to gain the belief of others, he should show that
he believes himself; and when he teaches the fitness
of virtue by his reasonings, he should, by his ex-
ample, prove its possibility ; thus much at least may

NO. 14. RAMBLER. 147

be required of him, that he shall not act worse than
others because he writes better, nor imagine that,
by the merit of his genius, he may claim indulgence
beyond mortals of the lower classes, and be excused
for want of prudence, or neglect of virtue.

Bacon, in his history of the winds, after having
offered something to the imagination as desirable,
often proposes lower advantages in its place to the
reason as attainable. The same method may be
sometimes pursued in moral endeavours, which this
philosopher has observed in natural inquiries ; hav-
ing first set positive and absolute excellence before
us, we may be pardoned though we sink down to
humbler virtue, trying, however, to keep our point
always in view, and struggling not to lose ground,
though we cannot gain it.

It is recorded of Sir Matthew Hale, that he, for
a long time, concealed the consecration of himself
to the stricter duties of religion, lest, by some flagi-
tious and shameful action, be should bring piety
into disgrace. For the same reason it may be
prudent for a writer, who apprehends that he shall
not enforce his own maxims by his domestic char-
acter, to conceal his name, that he may not injure
them.

There are, indeed, a great number whose curiosity
to gain a more familiar knowledije of successful
writers, is not so much prompted by an opinion of
their power to improve as to delight, and who expect
from tliem not arguments against vice, or disserta-
tions on tem[)erance or justice, but flights of wit and
sallies of pleasantry, or, at least, acute remarks,
nice distinctions, justness of sentiment, and elegance
of diction.

This expectation is, indeed, specious and probable,
and yet; such is the fate of all human hopes, that it

148 RAMBLER. NO. 14.

is very often frustrated, and those who raise admira-
tion by their books, disgust by their company. A
man of letters, for the most part, spends in the priva-
cies of study that season of life in which the manners
are to be softened into ease, and polished into
elegance ; and, when he has gained knowledge
enough to be respected, has neglected the minuter
acts by which he might have pleased. When he
enters life, if his temper be soft and timorous, he is
diffident and bashful, from the knowledge of his
defects ; or if he was born with spirit and resolution,
he is ferocious and arrogant, from the consciousness
of his merit ; he is either dissipated by the awe of
company, and unable to recollect his reading and
arrange his arguments ; or he is hot and dogmatical,
quick in opposition, and tenacious in defence, dis-
abled by his own violence, and confused by his haste
to triumph.

The graces of writing and conversation are of
different kinds, and though he who excels in one
might have been, with opportunities and application,
equally successful in the other, yet as many please
by extemporary talk, though utterly unacquainted
with the more accurate method, and more laboured
beauties, which composition requires ; so it is very
possible that men, wholly accustomed to works of
study, may be without that readiness of conception,
and affluence of language, always necessary to collo-
quial entertainment. They may want address to
watch the hints which conversation offers for the
display of their particular attainments, or they may
be so much unfurnished with matter on common
subjects, that discourse not professedly literary
glides over them as heterogeneous bodies, without
admitting their conceptions to mix in the circulation.

A transition from an author's book to his conver-

NO. 16. RAMBLER. 149

sation, is too often like an entrance into a large city,
after a distant prospect. Remotely, we see nothing
but spires of temples and turrets of palaces, and
imagine it the residence of splendour, grandeur, and
magniticence ; but when we have passed the gates,
we find it perplexed with narrow passages, disgraced
with despicable cottages, embarrassed with obstruc-
tions, and clouded with smoke.

No. 15. TUESDAY, MAY 8, 1750.

Et qxiando uberior vitiorum copin ? Quando

Major avaiitice paiuit sinus f Aha quando

Has amnios f — JUV. SAT. i. 87.

What age so large a crop of vices bore,

Or when was avarice extended more?

When were the dice witli more profusion thrown?

DRYDEN.

There is no grievance, public or prirate, of which,
since I took upon me the office of a periodical moni-
tor, I have received so many, or so earnest com-
plaints, as of the predominance of play ; of a fatal
passion for cards and dice, which seems to have
overturned, not only the ambition of excellence,
but the desire of pleasure ; to have extinguished the
flames of the lover, as well as of the patriot; and
threatens, in its further progress, to destroy all
distinctions, both of rank and sex, to crush all emu-
lation but that of fraud, to corrupt all those classes
of our people whose ancestors have by their virtue,

150 RAMBLER. NO. 15.

their industry, or their parsimony, given thera the
power of living in extravagance, idleness, and vice,
and to leave them without knowledge, but of the
modish games, and without wishes, but for lucky
hands.

I have found, by long experience, that there are
few enterprises so hopeless as contests with the
fashion, in which the opponents are not only made
confident by their numbers and strong by their
union, but are hardened by contempt for their antag-
onist, whom they always look upon as a wretch of
low notions, contracted views, mean conversation,
and narrow fortune, who envies the elevations which
he cannot reach, who would gladly imbitter the
happiness which his inelegance or indigence deny
' him to partake, and who has no other end in his
advice, than to revenge his own mortification by
hindering those whom their birth and taste have set
above him, from the enjoyment of their superiority,
and bringing them down to a level with himself.

Though I have never found myself much affected
by this formidable censure, which I have incurred
often enough to be acquainted with its full force,
yet I shall, in some measure, obviate it on this occa-
sion by offering very little in my own name, either
of argument or entreaty, since those who suffer by
this general infatuation may be supposed best able
to relate its effects.

" SIR,

" There seems to be so little knowledge left in
the world, and so little of that reflection practised
by which knowledge is to be gained, that I am in
doubt whether I shall be understood, when I com-
plain of want of opportunity for thinking ; or whether
a condemnation, which at present seems irreversible,

NO. 15. RAMBLER. 151

to perpetual ignorance, will raise any compassion,
either in you or your readers ; yet I will venture to
lay my state before you, because I believe it is nat-
ural, to most minds, to take some pleasure in com-
plaining of evils, of which they have no reason to
be ashamed.

" I am the daughter of a man of great fortune,
whose diffidence of mankind, and, perhaps, the pleas-
ure of continual accumulation, incline him to reside
upon his own estate, and to educate his children in
his own house, where I was bred, if not with the
most brilliant examples of virtue before my eyes, at
least remote enough from any incitements to vice ;
and wanting neither leisure nor books, nor the ac-
quaintance of some persons of learning in the neigh-
bourhood, I endeavoured to acquire such knowledge
as mi2;ht most recommend me to esteem, and thouii-ht
myself able to support a conversation upon most of
the subjects which my sex and condition made it
proper for me to understand.

'' I had, besides my knowledge, as my mamma
and my maid told me, a very fine face, and elegant
shape, and with all these advantages had been
seventeen months the rei^'niu'i; toast for twelve
miles round, and never came to the monthly as-
sembly, but I heard the old ladies that sat by wish-
ing tliat it might end well, and their daughters
criticizing my air, my features, or my dress.

"You know, Mr. Rambler, that ambition is nat-
ural to youth, and curiosity to understanding ; and
therefore will hear, without wonder, that I was de-
sirous to extend my victories over those who miglit
give more honour to the conqueror; and tiiat 1 toinid
in a country life a continual repetition of tlie same
pleasure, which was not sufficient to 1111 up the mind
for tlic present, or raise any expectations of the

152 RAMBLER. NO. 15.

future ; and I will confess to you, that I was impa-
tient for a sight of the town, and filled my thoughts
with the discoveries which I should make, the tri-
umphs that I should obtain, and the praises that I
should receive.

"At last the time came. My aunt, whose hus-
band has a seat in parliament, and a place at court,
buried her only child, and sent for me to supply the
loss. The hope that I should so far insinuate my-
self into their favour as to obtain a considerable
augmentation of my fortune, procured me every con-
venience for my departure, with great expedition ;
and I could not, amidst all my transports, forbear
some indignation, to see with what readiness the
natural guardians of my virtue sold me to a state
which they thought more hazardous than it really
was, as soon as a new accession of fortune glittered
in their eye.

" Three days I was upon the road, and on the
fourth morning my heart danced at the sight of
London. I was set down at my aunt's, and entered
upon the scene of action. I expected now, from
the age and experience of my aunt, some prudential
lessons ; but, after the first civilities and first tears
were over, was told what pity it was to have kept
so fine a girl so long in the country ; for the people
who did not begin young, seldom dealt their cards
handsomely or played them tolerably.

" Young persons are commonly inclined to slight
the remarks and counsels of their elders. I smiled,
perhaps, with too much contempt, and was upon the
point of telling her, that my time had not been past
in such trivial attainments. But I soon found that
things are to be estimated, not by the importance of
their elFects, but the frequency of their use.

" A few days after, my aunt gave me notice, that

NO. 15. RAMBLER. 153

some company, which she had been six weeks in col-
lecting, was to meet that evening, and she expected
a finer assembly than had been seen all the winter.
She expressed tkis in the jargon of a gamester, and,
when I asked an explication of her terms of art,
wondered where I had lived. I had already found
my aunt so incapable of any rational conclusion, and
so ignorant of every thing, whether great or little,
that I had lost all regard to her opinion, and dressed
myself with great expectations of opportunity to dis-
play my charms among rivals, whose competition
would not dishonour me. The company came in ;
and, after the cursory compliments of salutation,
alike easy to the lowest and the highest understand-
ing, what was the result ? The cards were broke
open, the parties were formed, the whole night
passed in a game, upon which the young and old
were equally employed ; nor was I able to attract
an eye, or gain an ear ; but being compelled to play
without skill, I perpetually embarrassed my part-
ner, and soon perceived the contempt of the whole
table gathering upon me.

" I cannot but suspect. Sir, that this odious fash-
ion is produced by a conspiracy of the old, the
ugly, and the ignorant, against the young and beau-
tiful, the witty and the gay, as a contrivance to level
all distinctions of nature and of art, to confound the
world in a chaos of folly, to take from those who
could outshine them all the advantages of mind and
body, to withhold youth from its natural pleasures,
deprive wit of its inHuence, and beauty of its charms,
to fix those hearts upon money, to which love has
hitherto been entitled, to sink life into a tedious uni-
formity, and to allow it no other hopes or fears, but
those of robbinjj, and beinjjr robbed.

" Be pleased, Sir, to inform those of my sex, who

154 RAMBLER. NO. 15.

have minds capable of nobler sentiments, that if they
■will unite in vindication of their pleasures and their
prerogatives, they may fix a time, at which cards
shall cease to be in fashion, or be left only to those
who have neither beauty to be loved, nor spirit to
be feared ; neither knowledge to teach, nor modesty
to learn ; and who, having passed their youth in vice,
are justly condemned to spend their age in folly.

" I am. Sir, &c.,

" Cleora."

" SIR,

" Vexation will burst my heart if I do not give it
vent. As you publish a paper, I insist upon it, that
you insert this in your next, as ever you hope for
the kindness and encouragement of any woman of
taste, spirit, and virtue. I would have it published
to the world, how deserving wives are used by
imperious coxcombs, that henceforth no woman may
marry, who has not the patience of Grizzel. Nay,
if even Grizzel had been married to a gamester, her
temper would never have held out. A wretch that
loses his good-humour and humanity along with his
money, and will not allow enough from his own
extravagances to support a woman of fashion in the
necessary amusements of life ! — Why does not he
emplo}^ his wdse head to make a figure in parlia-
ment, raise an estate, and get a title ? That would
be fitter for the master of a family, than rattling a
noisy dice-box ; and then he might indulge his wife
in a few slight expenses and elegant diversions.

" What if I was unfortunate at Brag ? — Should he
not have stayed to see how luck would turn another
time ? Instead of that, what does he do, but picks a
quarrel, upbraids me with loss of beauty, abuses ray
acquaintance, ridicules my play, and insults my un-

NO. 15. RAMBLER. 155

.derstanding ; says, forsooth, tliat women have not
heads enough to phiy with any thing but dolls, and
that they should be employed in things proportion-
able to their understanding, keep at home, and mind
family affairs.

" I do stay at home, Sir, and all the world knows T
am at home every Sunday. I have had six routs this
winter, and sent out ten packs of cards in invitations
to private parties. As for management, I am sure
he cannot call me extravagant, or say I do not mind
my family. The children are out at nurse in villages,
as cheap as any two little brats can be kept, nor
have I ever seen them since ; so he has no trouble
about them. The servants live at board wages. My
own dinners come from the Thatched House ; and
I have never paid a penny for any thing I have
bought since I was married. As for play, I do
think I may, indeed, indulge in that, now I am my
own mistress. Papa made me drudge at whist till
I was tired of it ; and, far from wanting a head, Mr.
Hoyle, when he had not given me above forty les-
sons, said I was one of his best scholars. I thought
then with myself, that, if once I was at liberty, I
would leave play, and take to reading romances,
tilings so forbidden at our house, and so railed at,
that it was impossible not to fancy them very charm-
ing. ]Most fortunately, to save me from absolute
undutifulness, just as I was married, came dear
Brag into fashion, and ever since it has been the joy
of my life ; so easy, so cheerful and careless, so
void of thought, and so genteel ! Who can help lov-
ino; it? Yet the ijerfidious thinjj has used me very
ill of late, and to-morrow I siiould have changed it
for Faro. But, oh ! this detestable to-morrow, a

thing always expected, and never found. Within

these few hours must I be dragged into the country.

156 RAMBLER. NO. 16.

The wretch, Sir, left me in a fit, which his threaten-
ings had occasioned, and unmercifully ordered a
postchaise. Stay I cannot, for money I have none,

and credit I cannot get But I will make the

monkey play with me at piquet upon the road for
all I want. I am almost sure to beat him, and his
debts of honour I know he will pay. Then who
can tell but I may still come back and conquer Lady
Packer? Sir, you need not print this last scheme,
and, upon second thoughts, you may. Oh, dis-
traction ! the postchaise is at the door. Sir, publish
what you will, only let it be printed without a name."

No. 16. SATURDAY, MAY 12, 1750.

— Torrens dicendi copia multis,
Et sua mortifera est facundia. — juv. SAT. x. 9.

Some who the depths of eloquence have found,

In that unnavigable stream were drown' d. drtden.

" SIR,

" I AM the modest young man whom you favoured
with your advice, in a late paper ; and, as I am very
far from suspecting that you foresaw the number-
less inconveniencies which I have, by following it,
brought upon myself, I will lay my condition open
before you ; for you seem bound to extricate me
from the perplexities, in which your counsel, how-
ever innocent in the intention, has contributed to
involve me.

NO. 16. RAMBLER. 157

" You told me, as you thought to my comfort, tliat
a writer might easily find means of introducing his
genius to the world, for the presses of England were
open. This I have now fatally experienced ; the
press is, indeed, open,

— Facilis descensus Avemi,
Nodes atque dies putet atri janua Ditis.

VIRG. iEN. vi. 126.

The gates of hell are open night and day;

Smooth the descent, and easy is the' way. dryden.

" The means of doing hurt to ourselves are always
at hand. I immediately sent to a printer, and con-
tracted with him for an impression of several thou-
sands of my pamphlet. While it was at the press,
I was seldom absent from the printing-house, and
continually urged the workmen to haste, by solicita-
tions, promises, and rewards. From the day all
other pleasures were excluded, by the delightful
employment of correcting the sheets ; and from the
night sleep was generally banished, by anticipations
of the happiness which every hour was bringing
nearer.

" At last the time of publication approached, and
my heart beat with the raptures of an author. I was
above all little precautions, and, in defiance of envy
or of criticism, set my name upon the title, without
sufficiently considering, that what has once passed
the press is irrevocable, and that though tiic printing-
house may properly be compared to the infernal
regions, for the facility of its entrance, and the diffi-
culty with which authors return from it; yet there
is this ditf'erence, that a great genius can never re-
turn to his former state, by a happy draught of the
waters of oblivion.

"I am now, Mr. Rambler, known to be an author,

158 RAMBLER. NO. 16.

and am condemned, irreversibly condemned, to all
the miseries of high reputation. The first morning
after publication my friends assembled about me ; I
presented each, as is usual, with a copy of my book.
They looked into the first pages, but were hindered,
by their admiration, from reading further. The
first pages are, indeed, very elaborate. Some pas-
sages they particularly dwelt upon, as more emi-
nently beautiful than the rest ; and some delicate
strokes, and secret elegances, I pointed out to them,
which had escaped their observation. I then begged
of them to forbear their compliments, and invited
them, I could do no less, to dine with me at a tavern.
After dinner, the book was resumed ; but their praises
very often so much overpowered my modesty, that I
was forced to put about the glass, and had often no
means of repressing the clamours of their admi-
ration, but by thundering to the drawer for another
bottle.

" Next morning another set of my acquaintance
congratulated me upon my performance, with such
importunity of praise, that I was again forced to
obviate their civilities by a treat. On the third day
I had yet a greater number of applauders to put to
silence in the same manner ; and, on the fourth,
those whom I had entertained the first day came
again, having, in the persual of the remaining part
of the book, discovered so many forcible sentences
and masterly touches, that it was impossible for me
to bear the repetition of their commendation. I,
therefore, persuaded them once more to adjourn to
the tavern, and choose some other subject, on which
I might share in the conversation. But it was not
in their power to withhold their attention from my
performance, which had so entirely taken possession
of their minds, that no entreaties of mine could change

NO. 16. RA3IULER. 159

their topic, and I was obliged to stifle with claret
that praise, which neither my modesty could hinder
nor my uneasiness repress.

" The whole week was thus spent in a kind of
literary revel, and I have now found that nothing is
so expensive as great abilities, unless there is joined
with them an insatiable eagerness of praise ; for to
escape from the pain of hearing myself exalted above
the greatest names, dead and living, of the learned
world, it has already cost me two hogsheads of port,
fifteen gallons of arrac, ten dozen of claret, and five
and forty bottles of champagne.

"I was resolved to stay at home no longer, and,
therefore, rose early and went to the coffee-house ;
but found that I had now made myself too eminent
for happiness, and that I was no longer to enjoy the
pleasure of mixing, upon equal terms, with the rest
of the world. As soon as I enter the room, I see
part of the company raging with envy, which they
endeavour to conceal, sometimes with the appearance
of laughter, and sometimes with that of contempt ;
but the disguise is such that I can discover the se-
cret rancour of their hearts ; and, as envy is de-
servedly its own punishment, I frequently indulge
myself in tormenting them with my presence.

" But though there may be some slight satisfac-
tion received from the mortification of my enemies,
yet my benevolence will not suffer me to take any
pleasure in the terrors of my friends. I have been
cautious, since the appearance of my work, not to
give myself more premeditated airs of su})eriority,
than the most rigid humility might allow. It is,
indeed, not impossible tiuit I may sometimes have
laid down my opinion in a manner that showed a
consciousness of my ability to maintain it, or inter-
rupted the conversation, when I saw its tendency,

160 KAMBLER. NO. 16.

without suffering the speaker to waste his time in
explaining his sentiments ; and, indeed, I did indulge
myself for two days in a custom of drumming with
my fingers, when the company began to lose them-
selves in absurdities, or to encroach upon subjects
w^hich I knew them unqualified to discuss. But I
generally acted with great appearance of respect,
even to those whose stupidity I pitied in my heart.
Yet, notwithstanding this exemplary moderation, so
universal is the dread of uncommon powers, and
such the unwillingness of mankind to be made wiser,
that I have now for some days found myself shunned
by all my acquaintance. If I knock at a door, no-
body is at home ; if I enter a coffee-house, I have
the box to myself. I live in the town like a lion
in his desert, or an eagle on his rock, too great for
friendship or society, and condemned to solitude, by
unhappy elevation and dreaded ascendency.

" Nor is my character only formidable to others,
but burdensome to myself. I naturally love to talk
without much thinking, to scatter my merriment at
random, and to relax my thoughts with ludicrous
remarks and fanciful images ; but such is now the
importance of my opinion, that I am afraid to offer
it, lest, by being established too hastily into a maxim,
it should be the occasion of error to half the nation ;
and such is the expectation with which I am at-
tended, when I am going to speak, that I frequently
pause to reflect whether what I am about to utter is
worthy of myself.

" This, Sir, is sufficiently miserable ; but there
are still greater calamities behind. You must have
read in Pope and Swift how men of parts have had
their closets rifled, and their cabinets broke open, at
the instigation of piratical booksellers, for the profit
of their works ; and it is apparent, that there are

NO. 16. RAMBLER. 161

many prints now sold in the shops, of men whom
you cannot suspect of sitting for that purpose, and
whose likenesses must have been certainly stolen
when their names made their faces vendible. These
considerations at first put me on my guard, and I
have, indeed, found sufficient reason for my caution,
for I have discovered many people examining my
countenance, with a curiosity that showed their in-
tention to draw it ; I immediately left the house, but
find the same behaviour in another.

" Others may be persecuted, but I am haunted ; I
have good reason to believe that eleven painters are
now dogging me, for they know that he wlio can get
mv face first will make liis fortune. I often chan2;e
my wig, and wear my hat over my eyes, by which I
hope somewhat to confound them ; for you know it
is not fair to sell my face without admitting me to
share the profit.

" I am, however, not so much in pain for my face
as for my papers, which I dare neither carry with
me nor leave behind. I have, indeed, taken some
measures for their preservation, having put them in
an iron chest, and fixed a padlock upon my closet.
I change my lodgings five times a week, and always
remove at the dead of night.

" Thus I live, in consequence of having given too
great proofs of a predominant genius, in the solitude
of a hermit, with the anxiety of a miser, and the
caution of an outlaw ; afraid to show my face lest it
should be copied ; afraid to speak, lest I should in-
jure my character ; and to write, lest my corre-
spondents should publish my letters ; always uneasy
lest my servants should steal my papers for the sake
of money, or my friends for that of the public. This
it is to soar above the rest of mankind ; and this rep-
resentation I lay before you, that I may be in-

VOL. XVI. 11

162 RAMBLER. NO. 17.

formed how to divest myself of the laurels which
are so cumbersome to the wearer, and descend to
the enjoyment of that quiet from which I find a
writer of the first class so fatally debarred.

" MiSELLUS."

No. 17. TUESDAY, MAY 15, 1750.

— Me non oracula certum,
Sed mors certa facit. — lucan.

Let those weak minds, who live in doubt and fear,
To juggling priests for oracles repair;
One certain hour of death to each decreed,
My fixed, my certain soul from doubt has freed.

EOWE.

It is recorded of some eastern monarch, that he
kept an officer in his house, whose employment it
was to remind him of his mortality, by calling out
every morning at a stated hour, ' Remember, prince,
that thou shalt die.' And the contemplation of the
frailness and uncertainty of our present state ap-
peared of so much importance to Solon, of Athens,
that he left this precept to future ages ; ' Keep thine
eye fixed upon the end of life.'

A frequent and attentive prospect of that moment,
which must put a period to all our schemes, and
deprive us of all our acquisitions, is, indeed, of the
utmost efficacy to the just and rational regulation of
our lives ; nor would ever any thing wicked, or often
any thing absurd, be undertaken or prosecuted by

NO. 17. RAMBLER. 1G3

him who should begin every day with a serious re-
flection that he is born to die.

The disturbers of our happiness, in this world,
are our desires, our griefs, and our fears ; and to all
these, the consideration of mortality is a certain and
adequate remedy. " Think," says Epictetus, " fre-
quently on poverty, banishment, and death, and thou
wilt then never indulge violent desires, or give up thy
heart to mean sentiments ovdev ovdeTrore Taireivov h&v-
fiTjaij, ovTE uyav kindv^Tjaeug TLVo^y

That the maxim of Epictetus is founded on just
observation will easily be granted, when we reflect,
how that vehemence of eagerness after the common
objects of pursuit is kindled in our minds. We
represent to ourselves the pleasures of some future
possession, and suffer our thoughts to dwell atten-
tively upon it, till it has wholly engrossed the imagi-
nation, and permits us not to conceive any happiness
but its attainment, or any misery but its loss ; every
other satisfaction which the bounty of providence
has scattered over life is neglected as inconsiderable,
in comparison of the great object which we have
placed before us, and is thrown from us as incum-
bering our activity, or trampled under foot as stand-
ing in our way.

Every man has experienced how much of this
ardour has been remitted, when a sharp or tedious
sickness has set death before his eye. The exten-
sive influence of greatness, the glitter of wealth, the
praises of admirers, and the attendance of suppli-
cants, have appeared vain and empty things, when
the last hour seemed to be approaching ; and the
same ap[)earance they would always have, if the
same thought was always predominant. We should
then Hud the absurdity of stretching out our arms
incessantly to grasp that which we cannot keep, and

164 RAMBLER. NO. 17.

wearing out our lives in endeavours to add new
turrets to tlie fabric of ambition, when the founda-
tion itself is shaking, and the ground on which it
stands is mouldering away.

All envy is proportionate to desire ; we are un-
easy at the attainments of another, According as we
think our own happiness would be advanced by the
addition of that which he withholds from us ; and
therefore whatever depresses immoderate wishes,
will, at the same time, set the heart free from the
corrosion of envy, and exempt us from that vice,
which is, above most others, tormenting to our-
selves, hateful to the world, and productive of mean
artifices and sordid projects. He that considers how
soon he must close his life, will find nothing of so
much importance as to close it well ; and will, there-
fore, look with indifference upon whatever is useless
to that purpose. Whoever reflects frequently upon
the uncertainty of his own duration, will find out,
that the state of others is not more permanent, and
that what can confer nothing on himself very desir-
able, cannot so much improve the condition of a
rival, as to make him much superior to those from
whom he has carried the prize, a prize too mean to
deserye a very obstinate opposition.
' E^Y^n grief, that passion to which the virtuous and
tender mind is particularly subject, will be obviated
or alleviated by the same thoughts. It will be ob-
viated, if all the blessings of our condition are enjoy-
ed with a constant sense of this uncertain tenure.
If we remember, that whatever we possess is to be
in our hands but a very little time, and that the
little, which our most lively hopes can promise us,
may be made less, by ten thousand accidents ; we
shall not much repine at a loss, of which we cannot
estimate the value, but of which, though we are not

NO. 17. RAMBLER. 1C5

able to tell the least amount, we know, with suffi-
cient certainty, the greatest, and are convinced that
the greatest is not much to be regretted.

But, if any passion has so much usurped our un-
derstanding, as not to suffer us to enjoy advantages
witli the moderation prescribed by reason, it is not
too late to apply this remedy, when we find our-
selves sinking under sorrow, and inclined to pine for
that which is irrecoverably vanished. We may
then usefully revolve the uncertainty of our own
condition, and the folly of lamenting that from
which, if it had stayed a little longer, we should
ourselves have been taken away.

With regard to the sharpest and most melting
sorrow, that which arises from the loss of those
whom we have loved with tenderness, it may be ob-
served, that friendship between mortals can be con-
tracted on no other terms, than that one must some
time mourn for the other's death : And this grief will
always yield to the survivor one consolation propor-
tionate to his attliction ; for the pain, whatever it be,
that he himself feels, his friend has escaped.

Nor is fear, the most overbearing and resistless
of all our passions, less to be temperated by this uni-
versal medicine of the mind. The frequent con-
templation of death, as it shows the vanity of all
human good, discovers likewise the lightness of all
terrestrial evil, which certainly can last no longer
than the subject upon which it acts ; and, according
to the old observation, must be shorter, as it is more
violent. The most cruel calamity wliich misfortune
can produce, must, by the necessity of nature, be
quickly at an end. Tlie soul cannot long be held in
prison, but will fly away, and leave a lifeless body
to human malice.

166 KAMBLER. NO. 17.

— Rideique sui ludibria trunci.
And soaring mocks the broken frame below.

The utmost that we can threaten to one another
is that death, which, indeed, we may precipitate, but
cannot retard, and from which, therefore, it cannot
become a wise man to buy a reprieve at the ex-
pense of virtue, since he knows not how small a
j3ortion of time he can purchase, but knows, that,
whether short or long, it will be made less valuable
by the remembrance of the price at which it has
been obtained. He is sure that he destroys his
happiness, but is not sure that he lengthens his life.

The known shortness of life, as it ought to moder-
ate our passions, may likewise, with equal propriety,
contract our designs. There is not time for the
most forcible genius, and most active industry, to
extend its effects beyond a certain sphere. To pro-
ject the conquest of the world, is the madness of
mighty princes ; to hope for excellence in every
science, has been the folly of literary heroes : and
both have found at last, that they have panted for a
height of eminence denied to humanity, and have
lost many opportunities of making, themselves use-
ful and happy, by a vain ambition of obtaining a
species of honour, which the eternal laws of Provi-
dence have placed beyond the reach of man.

The miscarriages of the great designs of princes
are recorded in the histories of the world, but are
of little use to the bulk of mankind, who seem very
little interested in admonitions against errors which
they cannot commit. But the fate of learned ambi-
tion is a proper subject for every scholar to con-
sider ; for who has not had occasion to regret the
dissipation of great abilities in a boundless multi-
plicity of pursuits, to lament the sudden desertion

NO. 17. RAMBLER. 167

of excellent designs, upon the offer of some other
subject made inviting by its novelty, and to observe
the inaccuracy and deficiencies of works left unfin-
ished by too great an extension of the plan ?

It is always pleasing to observe, how much more
our minds can conceive than our bodies can per-
form ; yet it is our duty, while we continue in this
complicated state, to regulate one part of our compo-
sition by some regard to the other. We are not to
indulge our corporeal appetites with pleasures that
impair our intellectual vigour, nor gratify our minds
with schemes which we know our lives must fail in
attempting to execute. The uncertainty of our
duration ought at once to set bounds to our designs,
and add incitements to our industry ; and when we
find ourselves inclined either to immensity in our
schemes, or sluggishness in our endeavours, we
may either check or animate ourselves, by recol-
lecting, with the father of physic, ' That art is long,
and life is short.'

168 RAMBLER. NO. 18.

No. 18. SATURDAY, MAY 19, 1750.

Illic matre carentibus
Priviynis mulier temperat innocens :
Nee dotata regit virum
Conjux, nee nitido fidit adultero :
Dos est magna jmreniium

Virtus, et metens alterius viri

Certo J'oidere castitas. hor. car. iii. 24. 17.

Not there the guiltless step-dame knows
The baleful draught for orphans to compose;

No wife high-portioned rules her spouse,
Or trusts her essenced lover's faithless vows:

The lovers there for dowry claim
The father's virtue, and the spotless fame

Which dares not break the nuptial tie. francis.

There is no observation more frequently made
by such as employ themselves in surveying the con-
duct of mankind, than that marriage, though the
dictate of nature, and the institution of Providence,
is yet very often the cause of misery, and that those
who enter into that state can seldom forbear to ex-
press their repentance, and their envy of those
whom either chance or caution hath withheld
from it.

This general unhappiness has given occasion to
many sage maxims among the serious, and smart
remarks among the gay ; the moralist and the writer
of epigrams have equally shown their abilities upon
it ; some have lamented, and some have ridiculed it ;
but as the faculty of writing has been chiefly a mas-
culine endowment, the reproach of making the world
miserable has been always thrown upon the women,

NO. 18. RAMBLER. 169

and the grave and the merry have equally thought
themselves at liberty to conclude eitlier with decla-
matory complaints, or satirical censures, of female
folly or fickleness, ambition or cruelty, extravagance
or lust.

Led by such number of examples, and incited by
my share in the common interest, I sometimes ven-
ture to consider this universal grievance, having
endeavoured to divest my heart of all partiality, and
place myself as a kind of neutral being between the
sexes, whose clamours, being equally vented on both
sides with all the vehemence of distress, all the ap-
parent confidence of justice, and all the indignation
of injured virtue, seem entitled to equal regard.
The men have, indeed, by their superiority of writ-
ing, been able to collect the evidence of many ages,
and raise prejudices in their favour by the venerable
testimonies of philosophers, historians, and poets;
but the pleas of the ladies appeal to passions of more
forcible operation than the reverence of antiquity.
If they have not so great names on their side, they
have stronger arguments ; it is to little purpose, that
Socrates, or Euripides, are produced against the sighs
of softness and the tears of beauty. The most frigid
and inexorable judge would, at least, stand sus-
pended between equal powers, as Lucan was per-
plexed in the determination of the cause, where the
deities were on one side, and Cato on the other.

But I, who have long studied the severest and
most abstracted philosophy, have now, in the cool
maturity of life, arrived at such command over my
passions, that I can hear the vociferations of either
sex without catching any of the fire from those that
utter them. For I have found, by long experience,
that a man will sometimes ragre at his wife, when in
reality his mistress has ofl'ended him ; and a lady

170 RAMBLER. NO. 18.

complain of the cruelty of her husband, when she
has no other enemy than bad cards. I do not suffer
myself to be any longer imposed upon by oaths on
one side, or fits on the other; nor when the husband
hastens to the tavern, and the lady retires to her
closet, am I always confident that they are driven
by their, miseries ; since I have sometimes reason to
believe, that they purpose not so much to soothe their
sorrows, as to animate their fury. But how little
credit soever may be given to particular accusations,
the general accumulation of the charge shows, with
too much evidence, that married persons are not
very often advanced in felicity ; and, therefore, it
may be proper to examine at what avenues so many
evils have made their way into the world. "With
this purpose, I have reviewed the lives of my friends,
who have been least successful in connubial con-
tracts, and attentively considered by what motives
they w^ere incited to marry, and by what principles
they regulated their choice.

One of the first of my acquaintances that resolved
to quit the unsettled, thoughtless condition of a
bachelor, was Prudentius, a man of slow parts, but
not without knowledge or judgment in things which
he had leisure to consider gradually before he de-
termined them. Whenever we met at a tavern, it
was his province to settle the scheme of our enter-
tainment, contract with the cook, and inform us when
we had called for wine to the sum originally pro-
posed. This grave considerer found, by deep medi-
tation, that a man was no loser by marrying early,
even though he contented himself with a less for-
tune; for estimating the exact worth of annuities,
he found that, considering the constant diminution
of the value of life, with the probable fall of the
interest of money, it was not worse to have ten

NO. 18. RAMBLER. 171

thousand pounds at the age of two and twenty years,
than a much larger fortune at thirty ; for many op-
portunities, says he, occur of improving money,
which, if a man misses, he may not afterwards
recover.

Full of these reflections, he threw his eyes about
him, not in search of beauty or elegance, dignity or
understanding, but of a woman with ten thousand
pounds. Such a woman, in a wealthy part of the
kingdom, it was not very difficult to find ; and by
artful management with her father, whose ambition
was to make his daughter a gentlewoman, my friend
got her, as he boasted to us in confidence two days
after his marriage, for a settlement of seventy-three
pounds a-year less than her fortune might have
claimed, and less than he himself would have given,
if the fools had been but wise enough to delay the
bargain.

Thus, at once, delighted with the superiority of
his parts, and the augmentation of his fortune, he
carried Furia to his own house, in which he never
afterwards enjoyed one hour of happiness. For
Furia was a wretch of mean intellects, violent pas-
sions, a strong voice and low education, without any
sense of happiness but that which consisted in eat-
ing and counting money. Furia was a scold. They
agreed in the desire of wealth, but with this differ-
ence, that Prudentius was for growing rich by gain,
Furia by parsimony. Prudentius would venture
his money with chances very much in his favour ;
but Furia very wisely observing, that what they had
was, while they had it, their own, thought all traffic
too great a hazard, and was for putting it out at low
interest, upon good security. Prudentius ventured,
however, to insure a ship, at a very unreasonable
price, but happening to lose his money, was so tor-

172 RAMBLER. NO. 18.

merited with the clamours of his wife, that he
never durst try a second experiment. He has
now grovelled seven and forty years under Furia^s
direction, who never once mentioned him, since
his bad luck, by any other name than that of The
Lisurer.

The next that married from our society was Flo-
rentius. He happened to see Zephyretta in a
chariot at a horserace, danced with her at night,
was confirmed in his first ardour, waited on her next
morning, and declared himself her lover. Floren-
tius had not knowledge enough of the world, to dis-
tinguish between the flutter of coquetry, and the
sprightliness of wit, or between the smile of allure-
ment, and that of cheerfulness. He was soon waked
from his rapture by conviction that his pleasure
was but the pleasure of a day. Zephyretta had
in four and twenty hours spent her stock of repar-
tee, gone round the circle of her airs, and had
nothing remaining for him but childish insipidity, or
for herself, but the practice of the same artifices
upon new men.

Melissus was a man of parts, capable of enjoying
and of improving life. He had passed through the
various scenes of gayety with that indifference and
possession of himself, natural to men who have
something higher and nobler in their prospect. Re-
tiring to spend the summer in a village little fre-
quented, he happened to lodge in the same house
with lanthe, and was unavoidably drawn to some
acquaintance, which her wit and politeness soon
invited him to improve. Having no opportunity
of any other company, they were always together ;
and, as they owed their pleasures to each other,
they began to forget that any pleasure was enjoyed
before their meeting. Melissus, from being delighted

NO. 18. RAMBLER. 173

with her company, quickly began to be uneasy in
her absence, and l3eing sufficiently convinced of the
force of her understanding, and finding, as he ima-
gined, such a conformity of temper as declared
them formed for each other, addressed her as a
lover, after no very long courtship obtained her for
his wife, and brought her next winter to town in
triumph.

Now began their infelicity. Melissus had only
seen her in one scene, where there was no variety
of objects, to produce the proper excitements to con-
trary desires. They had both loved solitude and
reflection, where there was nothing but solitude and
reflection to be loved ; but when they came into
public life, lanthe discovered those passions, which
accident rather than hypocrisy had hitherto con-
cealed. She was, indeed, not without the power
of thinking, but was wholly without the exertion of
that power, when either gayety or splendour played
on her imagination. She was expensive in her di-
versions, vehement in her passions, insatiate of
pleasure, however dangerous to her reputation, and
eager of applause by whomsoever it might be given.
This was the wife which Melissus, the philosopher,
found in his retirement, and from whom he expected
an associate in his studies, and an assistant to his
virtues.

Prosapius, upon the death of his younger brother,
that the family might not be extinct, married his
housekeeper, and has ever since been complaining
to his friends that mean notions are instilled into his
children, that he is ashamed to sit at his own table,
and that his house is uneasy to him for want of suit-
able companions.

Avaro, master of a very large estate, took a
woman of a bad reputation, recommended to him by

174 RAMBLER. NO. 19.

a rich uncle, who made that marriage the condition
on which he should be his heir. Avaro now wonders
to perceive his own fortune, his wife's, and his
uncle's, insufficient to give him that happiness which
is to be found only with a woman of virtue.

I intend to treat in more papers on this important
article of life, and shall, therefore, make no reflec-
tion upon these histories, except that all whom I
have mentioned failed to obtain happiness for want
of considering, that marriage is the strictest tie of
perpetual friendship, and there can be no friendship
without confidence, and no confidence without integ-
rity ; and that he must expect to be wretched, who
pays to beauty, riches, or politeness, that regard
which onl" virtue and piety can claim.

No. 19. TUESDAY, MAY 22, 1750.

Dum modb causidicum^ dum te modo rhetora fingis,

Et non decernis, Taure^ quid esse velis,
Peleos et Priami transit, vel Nestoris cetas,

Et fuerat serum jam tibi desinere. —
Eja, age, rumpe moras, quo te spectabimus vsqvs f

Dum, quid sis, dubitas,jam j^otes esse nihil. mart.

To vlietoric now, and now to law inclined,

Uncertain where to fix thy changing mind;

Old Priam's age, or Nestor's may be ont,

And thou, 0 Taurus, still go on in doubt.

Come then, how long such wavering shall we see?

Thou may'st doubt on: thou now can'st nothing be.

F. LEWIS.

It is never without very melancholy reflections,
that we can observe the misconduct, or miscarriage,

NO. 19. RAMBLER. 175

of those men, who seem by the force of understand-
ing, or extent of knowledge, exempted from the
general frailties of human nature, and privileged
from the common infelicities of life. Though the
world is crowded with scenes of calamity, we look
upon the general mass of wretchedness with very
little regard, and fix our eyes upon the state of par-
ticular persons, whom the eminence of their qualities
marks out from the multitude ; as in reading an ac-
count of a battle, we seldom reflect on the vulgar
heaps of slaughter, but follow the hero with our
whole attention, through all the varieties of his for-
tune, without a thought of the thousands that are
falling round him.

With the same kind of anxious veneration I have
for many years been making observations on the
life of Polyphilus, a man whom all his acquaintances
have, from his first appearance in the world, feared
for the quickness of his discernment, and admired
for the multiplicity of his attainments, but whose pro-
gress in life, and usefulness to mankind, has been
hindered by the superfluity of his knowledge and
the celerity of his mind.

Polyphilus was remarkable, at the school, for sur-
passing all his companions, without any visible ap-
plication, and at the university was distinguished
equally for his successful progress as well through
the thorny mazes of science, as the flowery path of
politer literature, without any strict confinement to
hours of study, or remarkable forbearance of the
common amusements of young men.

When Polyphilus was at the age in which men
usually choose their profession, and prepare to enter
into a public character, every academical eye was
fixed upon him; all were curious to inquire what
this universal genius would fix upon for the em-

176 RAMBLER. NO. 19.

plojment of his life ; and no doubt was made but
that he would leave all his contemporaries behind
him, and mount to the highest honours of that class
in which he should enlist himself, without those de-
lays and pauses which must be endured by meaneV
abilities.

Polyphilus, though by no means insolent or as-
suming, had been sufficiently encouraged, by unin-
terrupted success, to place great confidence in his
own parts ; and was not below his companions in
the indulgence of his hopes, and expectations of the
astonishment with which the world would be struck,
when first his lustre should break out upon it : nor
could he forbear — for whom does not constant flat-
tery intoxicate ? — to join sometimes in the mirth of
his friends, at the sudden disappearance of those,
who, having shone a while, and drawn the eyes of
the public upon their feeble radiance, were now
doomed to fade away before him.

It is natural for a man to catch advantageous no-
tions of the condition which those, with whom he
converses, are striving to attain. Polyphilus, in a
ramble to London, fell accidentally among the physi-
cians, and was so much pleased with the prospect
of turning philosophy to profit, and so highly de-
lighted with a new theory of fevers which darted
into his imagination, and which, after having consid-
ered it a few hours, he found himself able to main-
tain against all the advocates for the ancient system,
that he resolved to apply himself to anatomy, bot-
any, and chemistry, and to leave no part uncon-
quered either of the animal, mineral, or vegetable
kingdoms.

He therefore read authors, constructed systems,
and tried experiments ; but, unhappily, as he was
going to see a new plant in flower at Chelsea, he

NO. 19. RAMBLER. It t

met, in crossing Westminster to take water, the
chancellor's coach ; he had the curiosity to follow
him into the hall, where a remarkable cause hap-
pened to be tried, and found himself able to produce
so many arguments, which the lawyers had omitted
on both sides, that he determined to quit physic for
a profession, in which he found it would be so easy
to excel, and which promised higher honours, and
larger profits, without melancholy attendance upon
misery, mean submission to peevishness, and con-
tinual interruption of rest and pleasure.

He immediately took chambers in the Temple,
bought a commonplace-book, and confined himself
for some months to the perusal of the statutes, year-
books, pleadings, and reports ; he was a constant
hearer of the courts, and began to put cases with
reasonable accuracy. But he soon discovered, by
considering the fortune of lawyers, that preferment
was not to be got by acuteness, learning, and elo-
quence. He was perplexed by the absurdities of
attorneys, and misrepresentations made by his clients
of their own causes, by the useless anxiety of one,
and the incessant importunity of another; he began
to repent of having devoted himself to a study, which
was so narrow in its comprehension that it could
never carry his name to any other country, and
thought it unworthy of a man of parts to sell his
life only for money. The barrenness of his fellow-
students forced him generally into other company
at his hours of entertainment, and among the varie-
ties of conversation through which his curiosity was
daily wandering, he, by chance, mingled at a tavern
with some intelligent officers of the army. A man
of letters was easily dazzled with the gayety of their
appearance, and softened into kindness by the polite-
ness of their address ; he, therefore, cultivated this

VOL. XVI. 12

\

178 RAMBLER. NO. 19.

new acquaintance, and when he saw how readily
they found in every place admission and regard, and
how famiharly they mingled with every rank and
order of men, he began to feel his heart beat for
military honours, and wondered how the prejudices
of the university should make him so long insen-
sible of that ambition, which has fired so many
hearts in every age, and negligent of that calling,
which is, above all others, universally and invari-
ably illustrious, and w^hich gives, even to the ex-
terior appearance of its professors, a dignity and
freedom unknown to the rest of mankind.

These favourable impressions were made still
deeper by his conversation with ladies, whose regard
for soldiers he could not observe, without wishing
himself one of that happy fraternity, to which the
female world seemed to have devoted their charms
and their kindness. The love of knowledge, which
was still his predominant inclination, was gratified
by the recital of adventures, and accounts of foreign
countries ; and therefore he concluded that there
was no way of life, in which all his views could so
completely concentre as in that of a soldier. In the
art of war he thought it not difiicult to excel, hav-
ing observed his new friends not very much versed
in the principles of tactics or fortification ; he there-
fore studied all the military writers both ancient
and modern, and, in a short time, could tell how to
have gained every remarkable battle that has been
lost from the beginning of the world. He often
showed at table how Alexander should have been
checked in his conquests, what was the fatal error
at Pharsalia, how Charles of Sweden might have
escaped his ruin at Pultowa, and Marlborough might
have been made to repent his temerity at Blenheim.
He entrenched armies upon paper so that no supe-

NO. 19. KAMBLER. 179

riority of numbers could force them, and modelled in
clay many impregnable fortresses, on which all the
present arts of attack would be exhausted without
effect.

Polyphilus, in a short time, obtained a commis-
sion ; but before he could rub off the solemnity of a
scholar, and gain the true air of military vivacity, a
war was declared, and forces sent to the continent.
Here Polyphilus unhappily found that study alone
would not make a soldier ; feu* being much accus-
tomed to think, he let the sense of danger sink in to
his mind, and felt, at the approach of any action,
that terror which a sentence of death would have
brought upon him. He saw that instead of con-
quering their fears, the endeavour of his gay friends
was only to escape them ; but his philosophy chain-
ed his mind to its object, and rather loaded, him
with shackles than furnished him with arms. He,
however, suppressed his misery in silence, and
passed through the campaign with honour, but
found himself utterly unable to support another.

He then had recourse again to his books, and
continued to range from one study to another. As
I usually visit him once a month, and am admitted
to him without previous notice, I have found him,
within this last half year, deciphering the Chinese
language, making a farce, collecting a vocabulary
of the obsolete terms of the English law, writing an
inquiry concerning the ancient Corinthian brass,
and forming a new scheme of the variations of the
needle.

Thus is this powerful genius, which might have
extended the sphere of any science, or benefited
the v/orld in any profession, dissipated in a bound-
less variety, without profit to others or himself. He
makes sudden irruptions int(j the regions of know-

180 RAMBLER. NO. 19.

ledge, and sees all obstacles give way before him ;
but he never stays long enough to complete his
conquest, to establish laws, or bring away the
spoils.

Such is often the folly of men, whom nature has
enabled to obtain skill and knowledge, on terms so
easy, that they have no sense of the value of the
acquisition ; they are qualified to make such speedy
progress in learning, that they think themselves at
liberty to loiter in the way, and, by turning aside
after every new object, lose the race, like Atalanta,
to slower competitors, who press diligently forward,
and whose force is directed to a single point.

I have often thought those happy that have been
fixed, from the first dawn of thought, in a determina-
tion to some state of life, by the choice of one, whose
authority may preclude caprice, and whose influence
may prejudice them in favour of his opinion. The
general precept of consulting the genius is of little
use, unless we are told how the genius can be known.
If it is to be discovered only by experiment, life will
be lost before the resolution can be fixed ; if any
other indications are to be found, they may, perhaps,
be very early discerned. At least, if to miscarry in
an attempt be a proof of having mistaken the direc-
tion of the genius, men appear not less frequently
deceived with regard to themselves than to others ;
and therefore, no one has much reason to complain
that his life was planned out by his friends, or to be
confident that he should have had either more hon-
our or happiness, by being abandoned to the chance
of his own fancy.

It was said of the learned Bishop Sanderson, that,
when he was preparing his lectures, he hesitated so
much, and rejected so often, that, at the time of
reading, he was often forced to produce, not what

NO. 20. RAMBLER. 181

was best, but what happened to be at hand. This
will be the state of every man, who, in the choice
of his employment, balances all the arguments on
every side ; the complication is so intricate, the mo-
tives and objections so numerous, there is so much
play for the imagination, and so much remains in
the power of others, that reason is forced at last to rest
in neutrality, the decision devolves into the hands
of chance, and after a great part of life spent in
inquiries which can never be resolved, the rest must
often pass in repenting the unnecessary delay, and
can be useful to few other purposes than to warn
others against the same folly, and to show, that of
two states of life equally consistent with religion and
virtue, he who chooses earliest chooses best.

No. 20. SATURDAY, MAY 26, 1750.

Ad populum phaleras. Ego te intus, et in cute novu

PEES. SAT. iii. 30.

Such pageantry be to the people shown ;

There boast thy horse's trappings and thy own ;

I know thee to thy bottom; from within

Thy shallow centre, to thy utmost skin. dryden.

Among the numerous stratagems, by which pride
endeavours to recommend folly to regard, there is
scarcely one that meets with less success than affec-
tation, or a perpetual disguise of the real character,
by fictitious appearances ; whether it be, that every
man hates falsehood, from the natural congruity of

182 RAMBLER. NO. 20.

truth to his faculties of reason, or that every man is
jealous of the honour of his understanding, and thinks
his discernment consequentially called in question,
whenever any thing is exhibited under a borrowed

This aversion from all kinds of disguise, whatever
be its cause, is universally diffused, and incessantly
in action ; nor is it necessary, that to exasperate de-
testation, or excite contempt, any interest should be
invaded, or any competition attempted ; it is ^ suffi-
cient that there is an intention to deceive, an inten-
tion which every heart swells to oppose, and every
tongue is busy to detect.

This reflection was awakened in my mind by a
very common practice among my correspondents,
of writing under characters which they cannot sup-
port, which are of no use to the explanation or en-
forcement of that which they describe or recommend ;
and which, therefore, since they assume them only
for the sake of displaying their abilities, I will ad-
vise them for the future to forbear, as laborious with-
out advantage.

It is almost a general ambition of those who
favour me with their advice for the regulation of
my conduct, or their contribution for the assistance
of my understanding, to affect the style and the
names of ladies. And I cannot always withhold some
expression of anger, Uke Sir Hugh in the comedy,
when I happen to find that a woman has a beard.
I must, therefore, warn the gentle Phylhs that she
send me no more letters from the Horse Guards ;
and require of Belinda, that she be content to resign
her pretensions to female elegance, till she has lived
three weeks without hearing the politics of Batson s
coffee-house. I must indulge myself in the liberty
of observation, that there were some allusions in

NO. 20. RAMBLER. 183

Chloris's production, sufficient to show that Bracton
and Plowden are her favourite authors ; and that
Euphelia has not been long enough at home to wear
out all the traces of the phraseology, which she
learned in the expedition to Carthagena.

Among all my female friends, there was none
who gave me more trouble to decipher her true
character, than Penthesilea, whose letter lay upon
my desk three days before I could fix upon the real
writer. There was a confusion of images, and
medley of barbarity, which held me long in sus-
pense ; till by perseverance I disentangled the per-
plexity, and found, that Penthesilea is the son of a
wealthy stock-jobber, who spends his morning under
his father's eye, in Change-alley, dines at a tavern
in Covent-garden, passes his evening in the play-
house, and part of the night at a gaming-table,
and having learned the dialects of these various
regions, has mingled them all in a studied com-
position.

When Lee was once told by a critic, that it was
very easy to write like a madman ; he answered,
that it was difficult to write like a madman, but easy
enough to write like a fool ; and I hope to be ex-
cused by my kind contributors, if, in imitation of this
great author, I presume to remind them, that it is
much easier not to write like a man, than to write
like a w^oman.

I have, indeed, some ingenious wellwishers, who,
without departing from their sex, have found very
wonderful appellations. A very smart letter has
been sent me from a puny ensign, signed Ajax
Telamonius ; another in recommendation of a new
treatise upon cards, from a gamester who calls
himself Sesostris ; and another upon the improve-
ments of the fishery, from Dioclesian ; but as these

184 RAMBLER. NO. 20.

seem only to have picked up their appellations by
chance, without endeavouring at any particular im-
posture, their improprieties are rather instances of
blunder than of affectation, and are, therefore, not
equally fitted to inflame the hostile passions ; for it
is not folly but pride, not error but deceit, which
the world means to persecute, when it raises the full
cry of nature to hunt down affectation.

The hatred, which dissimulation always draws
upon itself, is so great, that if I did not know how
much cunning differs from wisdom, I should wonder
that any men have so little knowledge of their own
interest, as to aspire to wear a mask for life ; to try*
to impose upon the world a character, to which they
feel themselves void of any just claim ; and to hazard
their quiet, their fame, and even their profit, by
exposing themselves to the danger of that reproach,
malevolence, and neglect, which such a discovery
as they have always to fear will certainly bring
upon them.

It might be imagined, that the pleasure of reputa-
tion should consist in the satisfaction of having our
opinion of our own merit confirmed by the suffrage
of the public ; and that, to be extolled for a quality,
which a man knows himself to want, should give
him no other happiness than to be mistaken for the
owner of an estate, over which he chances to be
travelling. But he, who subsists upon affectation,
knows nothing of this delicacy ; like a desperate ad-
venturer in commerce, he takes up reputation upon
trust, mortgages possessions which he never had,
and enjoys, to the fatal hour of bankruptcy, though
with a thousand terrors and anxieties, the unneces-
sary splendour of borrowed riches.

Affectation is to be always distinguished from
hypocrisy, as being the art of counterfeiting those

NO. 20. RAMBLKR. 185

qualities which we might, with innocence and safety,
be known to want. Thus the man, who, to carry
on any fraud, or to conceal any crime, pretends to
rigours of devotion and exactness of life, is guilty of
hypocrisy ; and his guilt is greater, as the end, for
which he puts on the false appearance, is more per-
nicious. But he that, with an awkward address,
and unpleasing countenance, boasts of the conquests
made by him among the ladies, and counts over the
thousands which he might have possessed if he
would have submitted to the yoke of matrimony, is
chargeable only with affectation. Hypocrisy is the
necessary burden of villany, affectation part of the
chosen trappings of folly ; the one completes a villain,
the other only finishes a fop. Contempt is the prop-
er punishment of affectation, and detestation the just
consequence of hypocrisy.

With the hypocrite it is not at present my inten-
tion to expostulate, though even he might be taught
the excellency of virtue, by the necessity of seeming
to be virtuous ; but the man of affectation may, per-
haps, be reclaimed, by finding how little he is likely
to gain by perpetual constraint and incessant vigi-
lance, and how much more securely he might make
his way to esteem, by cultivating real, than display-
ing counterfeiting qualities.

Every thing future is to be estimated by a wise
man, in proportion to the probability of attaining it,
and its value when attained ; and neither of these
considerations will much contribute to the encour-
agement of affectation. For, if the pinnacles of
fame be, at best, slippery, how unsteady must his
footing be who stands upon pinnacles without foun-
dation ! If praise be made, by the inconstancy and
maliciousness of those who must confer it, a blessing
which no man can promise himself from the most

186 RAMBLER. NO. 20.

conspicuous merit and vigorous industry, how faint
must be the hope of gaining it, when the uncertainty
is multiplied by the weakness of the pretensions !
He that pursues fame with just claims, trusts his
happiness to the winds; but he that endeavours
after it by false merit, has to fear, not only the
violence of the storm, but the leaks of his vessel.
Though he should happen to keep above water for
a time, by the help of a soft breeze, and a calm sea,
at the first gust he must inevitably founder, with
this melancholy reflection, that, if he would have
been content with his natural station^ he might have
escaped his calamity. Affectation may possibly
succeed for a time, and a man may, by great at-
tention, persuade others, that he really has the
qualities which he presumes to boast ; but the hour
will come when he should exert them, and then,
whatever he enjoyed in praise, he must suffer in
reproach.

Applause and admiration are by no means to be
counted among the necessaries of life, and, therefore,
any indirect arts to obtain them have very little
claim to pardon or compassion. There is scarcely
any man without some valuable or improvable qual-
ities, by which he might always secure himself from
contempt. And, perhaps, exemption from ignominy
is the most elegible reputation, as freedom from
pain is, among some philosophers, the definition of
happiness.

If we, therefore, compare the value of the praise
obtained by fictitious excellence, even while the
cheat is yet undiscovered, with that kindness which
every man may suit by his virtue, and that esteem
to which most men may rise by common understand-
ing steadily and honestly applied, we shall find that
when from the adscititious happiness all the deduc-

NO. 21. RAMBLER. 187

tions are made by fear and casualty, there will re-
main nothing equiponderant to the security of truth.
The state of the possessor of humble virtues, to the
affector of great excellences, is that of a small
cottage of stone, to the palace raised with ice by
the empress of Russia ; it was for a time splendid
and luminous, but the first sunshine melted it to
nothing.

No. 21. TUESDAY, MAY 29, 1750.

Terra salutares herbas, eademque nocentes,
Nutrit ; et urticce proxima scepe rosa est.

OVID. KEM. AM. 45.

Our bane and physic the same earth bestows,
And near the noisome nettle blooms the rose.

Every man is prompted by the love of himself
to imagine, that he possesses some qualities, supe-
rior, either in kind or in degree, to those which he
sees allotted to the rest of the world ; and, whatever
apparent disadvantages he may suffer in the com-
parison with others, he has some invisible distinc-
tions, some latent reserve of excellence, which he
throws into the balance, and by which he generally
fancies that it is turned in his favour.

The studious and speculative })art of mankind al-
ways seem to consider their fraternity as placed in
a state of opposition to those who are engaged in
the tumult of public business ; and have pleased
themselves, from age to age, with celebrating the

188 RAMBLER. t NO. 21.

felicity of their own condition, and with recounting
the perplexity of politics, the dangers of greatness,
the anxieties of ambition, and the miseries of riches.

Among the numerous topics of declamation, that
their industry has discovered on this subject, there
is none which they press with greater efforts, or on
which they have more copiously laid out their reason
and their imagination, than the instability of high
stations, and the uncertainty with which the profits
and honours are possessed that must be acquired
with so much hazard, vigilance, and labour.

This they appear to consider as an irrefragable
argument against the choice of the statesman and
the warrior; and swell with confidence of victory,
thus furnished by the muses with the arms which
never can be blunted, and which no art or strength
of their adversaries can elude or resist.

It was well known by experience to the nations
which employed elephants in war, that though by
the terror of their bulk, and the violence of their
impression, they often threw the enemy into dis-
order, yet there was always danger in the use of
them, very nearly equivalent to the advantage ; for
if their first charge could be supported, they were
easily driven back upon their confederates; they
then broke through the troops behind them, and
made no less havoc in the precipitation of their
retreat, than in the fury of their onset.

1 know not whether those, who have so vehe-
mently urged the inconveniencies and danger of an
active life, have not made use of arguments that
may be retorted with equal force upon themselves ;
and whether the happiness of a candidate for literary
fame be not subject to the same uncertainty with
that of him who governs provinces, commands
armies, presides in the senate, or dictates in the
cabinet.

NO. 21. RAMBLER. 189

That eminence of learning is not to be gained with-
out labour, at least equal to that which any other
kind of greatness can require, will be allowed by
those who wish to elevate the character of a scholar ;
since they cannot but know, that every human ac-
quisition is valuable in proportion to the difficulty
employed in its attainment. And that those, who
have gained the esteem and veneration of the world,
by their knowledge or their genius, are by no means
exempt from the solicitude which any other kind
of dignity produces, may be conjectured from the
innumerable artifices which they make use of to de-
grade a superior, to repress a rival, or obstruct a
follower ; artifices so gross and mean, as to prove
evidently how much a man may excel in learning,
without being either more wise or more virtuous
than those whose ignorance he pities or despises.

Nothing therefore remains, by which the student
can gratify his desire of appearing to have built his
happiness on a more firm basis than his antagonist,
except the certainty with which his honours are en-
joyed. The garlands gained by the heroes of litera-
ture must be gathered from summits equally difficult
to climb with those that bear the civic or triumphal
wreaths ; they must be worn with equal envy, and
guarded with equal care from those hands that are
always employed in efforts to tear them away ; the
only remaining hope is, that their verdure is more
lasting, and that they are less likely to fade by time,
or less obnoxious to the blasts of accident.

Even this hope will receive very little encourage-
ment from the examination of the history of learn-
ing, or observation of the fate of scholars in the
present age. If we look back into past times, we
find innumerable names of authors once in high
reputation, read perhaps by the beautiful, quoted

190 RAMBLER. NO. 21,

by the witty, and commented on by the grave ; but
of whom we now know only that they once existed.
If we» consider the distribution of hterary fame in
our own time, we shall find it a possession of very
•uncertain tenure; sometimes bestowed by a sudden
caprice of the public, and again transferred to a new
favourite, for no other reason than that he is new ;
sometimes refused to long labour and eminent de-
sert, and sometimes granted to very slight preten-
sions ; lost sometimes by security and negligence,
and sometimes by too diligent endeavours to re-
tain it.

A successful author is equally in danger of the
diminution of his fame, whether he continues or
ceases to write. The regard of the public is not to
be kept but by tribute, and the remembrance of past
service will quickly languish unless successive per-
formances frequently revive it. Yet in every new
attempt there is new hazard, and there are few who
do not, at some unlucky time, injure their own char-
acters by attempting to enlarge them.

There are many possible causes of that inequality
which we may so frequently observe in the perform-
ances of the same man, from the influence of which
no ability or industry is sufficiently secured, and
which have so often sullied the splendour of genius,
that the wit, as w^ell as the conqueror, may be prop-
erly cautioned not to indulge his pride with too
early triumphs, but to defer to the end of life his
estimate of happiness.

— Ultima semper
Exspectanda dies liomini : dicique beaius
Ante obitum nemo supremaque funera debet.

OVID, MET. iii. 135.

But no frail man, however great or high,

Can be concluded blest before he die. addisojj.

NO. 21. RAMBLER. 191

Among the motives that urge an author to under-
takings by which his reputation is impaired, one of
the most frequent must be mentioned with tender-
ness, because it is not to be counted among his fol-
lies, but his* miseries. It very often happens that
the works of learning or of wit are performed at
the direction of those by whom they are to be re-
warded ; the writer has not always the choice of his
subject, but is compelled to accept any task which
is thrown before him, without much consideration of
his own convenience, and without time to prepare
himself by previous studies.

Miscarriages of this kind are likewise frequently
the consequence of that acquaintance with the great,
which is generally considered as one of the chief
privileges of literature and genius. A man who has
once learned to think himself exalted by familiarity
with those whom nothing but their birth, or their
fortunes, or such stations as are seldom gained by
moral excellence, set above him, will not be long
without submitting his understanding to their con-
duct ; he will suffer them to prescribe the course of
his studies, and employ him for their own purposes
either of diversion or interest. His desire of pleas-
ing those whose favour he has weakly made neces-
sary to himself, will not suffet' him always to consider
how little he is qualified for the work imposed.
Either his vanity will tempt him to conceal his defi-
ciencies, or that cowardice, which always encroaches
fast upon such as spend their lives in the company
of persons higher than themselves, will not leave him
resolution to assert the liberty of choice.

But, though we suppose that a man by his fortune
can avoid the necessity of dependence, and by his
spirit can repel the usurpations of patronage, yet he
may easily, by writing long, hap[)cii to write ill.

192 RAMBLER. NO. 21.

There is a general succession of effects, in which
contraries are produced by periodical vicissitudes ;
labour and care are rewarded with success, success
produces confidence, confidence relaxes industry, and
negligence ruins that reputation which accuracy had
raised.

He that happens not to be lulled by praise into
supineness, may be animated by it to undertakings
above his strength, or incited to fancy himself alike
qualified for every kind of composition, and able to
comply with the public taste through all its varia-
tions. By some opinion like this, many men have
been engaged at an advanced age, in attempts which
they had not time to complete, and after a few weak
efforts sunk into the grave with vexation to see the
rising generation gain ground upon them. From
these failures the highest genius is not exempt; that
judgment which appears so penetrating, when it is
employed upon the works of others, very often fails
where interest or passion can exert their power.
We are blinded in examining our own labours by
innumerable prejudices. Our juvenile compositions
please us, because they bring to our minds the
remembrance of youth ; our latter performances we
are ready to esteem, because we are unwilling to
think that we have made no improvement ; what
flows easily from the pen charms us, because we
read with pleasure that which flatters our opinion
of our own powers ; what was composed with great
struggles of the mind we do not easily reject, because
we cannot bear that so much labour should be fruit-
less. But the reader has none of these preposses-
sions, and wonders that the author is so unlike
himself, without considering that the same soil will,
vfiih different culture, afford different products.

NO. 22. RAMBLER. . 193

No. 22. SATURDAY, JUNE 2, 1750.

— £^70 7iec stndlum sine divite vend,
Nee rude quid prtjsit video ingenium, alterius sic
Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice.

HOR. ARS POET. 409.

Without a genius learning soars in vain ;
And without learning genius sinks again;
Their force united crowns the sprightly reign.

ELPHESfSTON.

Wit and Learning were the children of Apollo,
by ditferent mothers ; ^Yit was the offspring of Eu-
phrosyne, and resembled her in cheerfulness and
vivacity ; Learning was born of Sophia, and retained
her seriousness and caution. As their mothers
were rivals, they were bred up by them from their
birth in habitual opposition, and all means were so
incessantly employed to impress upon them a hatred
and contempt of each other, that though Apollo, who
foresaw the ill effects of their discord, endeavoured
to soften them, by dividing his regard equally be-
tween them, yet his impartiality and kindness were
without effect ; the maternal animosity was deeply
rooted, having been intermingled with their first
ideas, and was confirmed every hour, as fresh op-
portunities occurred of exerting it. No so6ner were
they of age to be received into the apartments of the
other celestials, than wit began to entertain Venus
at her toilet, by aping the solemnity of Learning, and
Learning to divert Minerva at her loom, by exposing
the blunders and ignorance of Wit.
• VOL. XVL 13

194 RAMBLER. NO. 22.

Thus thej grew up, with malice perpetually in-
creasing, by the encouragement which each received
from those whom their mother had persuaded to
patronize and support them ; and longed to be ad-
mitted to the table of Jupiter, not so much for the
hope of gaining honour, as of excluding a rival from
all pretensions to regard, and of putting an everlast-
ing stop to the progress of that influence which either
believed the other to have obtained by mean arts
and false appearances.

At last the day came, when they were both, with
the usual solemnities, received into the class of supe-
rior deities, and allowed to take nectar from the
hand of Hebe. But from that hour Concord lost
her authority at the table of Jupiter. The rivals,
animated by their new dignity, and incited by the
alternate applauses of the associate powers, har-
assed each other by incessant contests, with such a
regular vicissitude of victory, that neither was de-
pressed.

It was observable, that, at the beginning of every
debate, the advantage was on the side of Wit ; and
that, at the first sallies, the whole assembly sparkled,
according to Homer's expression, with unextinguish-
able merriment. But Learning would reserve her
strength till the burst of applause was over, and the
languor, with which the violence of joy is always
succeeded, began to promise more calm and patient
attention. She then attempted her defence, and, by
comparing one part of her antagonist's objections
with another, commonly made him confute himself;
or by showing how small a part of the question he
had taken into his view, proved that his opinion
could have no weight. The audience began gradu-
ally to lay aside their prepossessions, and rose, at
last, with great veneration for Learning, but with
greater kindness for Wit. t

NO. 22. RAMBLER. 195

Their conduct was, whenever they desired to re-
commend themselves to distinction, entirely opposite.
Wit was daring and adventurous, Learning cautious
and deliberate. Wit thought nothing reproachful
but dulness ; Learning was afraid of no imputation
but that of error. Wit answered before he under-
stood, lest his quickness of apprehension should be
questioned ; Learning paused, where there was no
difficulty, lest any insidious sophism should lie un-
discovered. Wit perplexed every debate by rapid-
ity and confusion ; Learning tired the hearers with
endless distinctions, and prolonged the dispute with-
out advantage, by proving that which never was
denied. Wit, in hopes of shining, would venture to
produce what he had not considered, and often suc-
ceeded beyond his own expectation, by following
the train of a lucky thought ; Learning would reject
every new notion, for fear of being entangled in con-
sequences which she could not foresee, and was often
hindered, by her caution, from pressing her advan-
tages, and subduing her opponent.

Both had prejudices, which in some degree hin-
dered their progress towards perfection, and left
them open to attacks. Novelty was the darling of
Wit, and antiquity of Learning. To Wit, all that
was new was specious ; to Learning, whatever was
ancient was venerable. Wit, however, seldom failed
to divert those whom he could not convince, and to
convince was not often his ambition ; Learning al-
ways supported her opinion with so many collateral
truths, that, when the cause was decided against
her, her arguments were remembered with ad-
miration.

Nothing was more common, on either side, than
to quit their proper characters, and to hope for a
complete conquest by the use of the weapons which

196 BAMBLER. NO. 22.

had been employed against them. Wit would some-
times labour a syllogism, and Learning distort her
features with a jest ; but they always suffered by
the experiment, and betrayed themselves to confu-
tation or contempt. The seriousness of Wit was
without dignity, and the merriment of Learning with-
out vivacity.

Their contests by long continuance, grew at last
important, and the divinities broke into parties. Wit
was taken into j)rotection of the laughter-loving Ve-
nus, had a retinue allowed him of Smiles and Jests,
and was often permitted to dance among the Graces.
Learning still continued the favourite of Minerva,
and seldom went out of her palace, without a train
of the severer virtues, Chastity, Temperance, Forti-
tude, and Labour. Wit, cohabiting with Malice,
had a son named Satire, who followed him, carrying
a quiver filled with poisoned arrows, which, where
they once drew blood, could by no skill ever be
extracted. These arrows he frequently sliot at
Learning, when she was most earnestly or usefully
employed, engaged in abstruse inquiries, or giving
instructions to her followers. Minerva, therefore,
deputed Criticism to her aid, who generally broke
the point of Satire's arrows, turned them aside, or
retorted them on himself.

Jupiter was at last angry that the peace of the
heavenly regions should be in perpetual danger of
violation, and resolved to dismiss these troublesome
antagonists to the lower world. Hither, therefore,
they came, and carried on their ancient quarrel
among mortals, nor was either long without zealous
votaries. Wit, by his gayety, captivated the young;
and Learning, by her authority, influenced the old.
Their power quickly appeared by very eminent ef-
fects, theatres were built for the reception of Wit,

NO. 22. RAMBLER. 197

and colleges endowed for the residence of Learning.
Each party endeavoured to outvie the other in cost
and magniticence, and to propagate an opinion, that
it was necessary, from the first entrance into life, to
enlist in one of the factions ; and that none could
hope for the regard of either divinity, who had once
entered the temple of the rival power.

There were, indeed, a class of mortals, by whom
Wit and Learning were equally disregarded ; these
were the devotees of Plutus, the'god of riches;
among these it seldom happened that the gayety of
Wit could raise a smile, or the eloquence of Learn-
ing procure attention. In revenge of this contempt
they agreed to incite their followers against them ;
but the forces that were sent on those expeditions
frequently betrayed their trust; and, in contempt of
the orders which they had received, flattered the
rich in public while they scorned them in their
hearts ; and when, by this treachery, they had ob-
tained the favour of Plutus, affected to look with an
air of superiority on those who still remained in the
service of Wit and Learning.

Disgusted with these desertions, the two rivals,
at the same time, petitioned Jupiter for readraission
to their native habitations. Jupiter thundered on
the right hand, and they prepared to obey the happy
summons. Wit readily spread his wings and soared
aloft, but not being able to see far, was bewildered
in the pathless immensity of the ethereal spaces.
Learning, who knew the way, shook her pinions ;
but for want of natural vigour could only take short
flights ; so, after many efforts, they both sunk again
to the ground, and learned, from their nnitual dis-
tress, the necessity of union. They therefore joined
their hands and renewed their flight; Learning was
borne up by the vigour of Wit, and Wit guided by

198 RAMBLER. NO. 23.

the perspicacity of Learning. They soon reached
the dwellings of Jupiter, and were so endeared to
each other, that they lived afterwards in perpetual
concord. Wit persuaded Learning to converse with
the Graces, and Learning engaged Wit in the ser-
vice of the Virtues. They were now the favourites
of all the powers of heaven, and gladdened every
banquet by their presence. They soon after mar-
ried, at the command of Jupiter, and had a numer-
ous progeny of Arts and Sciences.

No. 23. TUESDAY, JUNE 5, 1750.

Tres mihi convivce prope disseniire videntur ;
Poscentes vario muUuni diversa palaio.

HOK. EPIST. ii. 2. 61.

Thi'ee guests I have, dissenting at my feast

Requiring each to gratify his taste

With different food. fbancis.

That every man should regulate his actions by
his own conscience, without any regard to the opin-
ions of the rest of the world, is one of the first
precepts of moral prudence ; justified not only by
the suffrage of reason, which declares that none of
the gifts of Heaven are to lie useless, but by the
voice likewise of experience, which will soon inform
us that, if we make the praise or blame of others
the rule of our conduct, we shall be distracted by
a boundless variety of irreconcilable judgments,

NO. 23. RAMBLER. 199

be held in perpetual suspense between contrary
impulses, and consult forever without determination.

I know not whether, for the same reason, it is not
necessary for an author to place some confidence in
his own skill, and to satisfy himself in the knowledge
that he has not deviated from the established laws
of composition, without submitting his works to fre-
quent examinations before he gives them to the
public, or endeavouring to secure success by a soli-
citous conformity to advice and criticism.

It is, indeed, quickly discoverable, that consulta-
tion and comphance can conduce little to the perfec-
tion of any literary performance ; for whoever is so
doubtful of his own abilities as to encourage the re-
marks of others, will find himself every day embar-
rassed with new difficulties, and will harass his
mind, in vain, with the hopeless labour of uniting
heterogeneous ideas, digesting independent hints,
and collecting into one point the several rays of
borrowed light, emitted often with contrary di-
rections.

Of all authors, those who retail their labours in
periodical sheets would be most unhappy, if they
were much to regard the censures or the admonitions
of their readers ; for, as their works are not sent into
the world at once, but by small parts in gradual suc-
cession, it is always imagined, by those who think
themselves qualified to give instructions, that they
may yet redeem their former failings by hearkening
to better judges, and supply the deficiencies of their
plan, by the help of the criticisms which are so lib-
erally afforded.

I have had occasion to observe, sometimes with
vexation, and sometimes with merriment, the differ-
ent tem[)er with which the same man reads a print-
ed and manuscript performance. When a book is

200 RAMBLER. NO. 23.

once in the hands of the public, it is considered as
permanent and unaUerable ; and the reader, if he
be free from personal prejudices-, takes it up with
no other intention than of pleasing or instructing
himself; he accommodates his mind to the author's
design ; and, having no interest in refusing the
amusement that is offered him, never interrupts his
own tranquillity by studied cavils, or destroys his
satisfaction in that which is already well, by an anx-
ious mquiry how it might be better ; but is often
contented without pleasure, and pleased without
perfection.

But if the same man be called to consider the
merit of a production yet unpublished, he brings an
imagination heated with objections to passages,
which he has yet never heard ; he invokes all the
power of criticism, and stores his memory with taste
and grace, purity and delicacy, manners and uni-
ties, sounds which, having been once uttered by
those that understood them, have been since reechoed
without meaning, and kept up to the disturbance of
the world, by a constant repercussion from one cox-
comb to another. He considers himself as obliged
to show, by some proof of his abilities, that he is not
consulted to no purpose, and, therefore, watches
every opening for objection, and looks round for
every opportunity to propose some specious altera-
tion. Such opportunities a very small degree of
sagacity will enable him to find ; for, in every work
of imagination, the disposition of parts, the insertion
of incidents, and use of decorations, may be varied
a thousand ways with equal propriety ; and, as in
things nearly equal, that will always seem best to
every man which he himself produces, the critic,
whose business is only to propose, without the care
of execution, can never want the satisfaction of be-

NO. 23. RAMBLER. 201

Heving that he has suggested very important im-
provements, nor the power of enforcing his advice
by arguments, which as they appear convincing to
himself, either his kindness or his vanity will press
obstinately and importunately, without suspicion
that he may possibly judge too hastily in favour of
his own advice, or inquiry whether the advantage
of the new scheme be proportionate to the labour.

It is observed, by the younger Pliny, that an
orator ouglit not so much to select the strongest ar-
guments which his cause admits, as to employ all
w^hich his imagination can afford; for, in pleading,
those reasons are of most value, which will most
affect the judges ; " and the judges," says he, " will
be always most touched with that which they had
before conceived." Every man who is called to
give his opinion of a performance, decides upon the
same principle ; he first suffers himself to form ex-
pectations, and then is angry at his disappointment.
He lets his imaj^ination rove at lar";e, and wonders
that another, equally unconfined in the boundless
ocean of possibility, takes a different course.

But, though the rule of Pliny be judiciously laid
down, it is not applicable to the wa-iter's cause, be-
cause there always lies an appeal from domestic crit-
icism to a higher judicature, and the public, which
is never corrupted, nor often deceived, is to pass the
last sentence upon literary claims.

Of the great force of preconceived opinions I had
many proofs, when I first entered upon this weekly
labour. My readers having, from the performances
of my predecessors, established an idea of uncon-
nected essays, to which they believed all future
authors under a necessity of conforming, were im-
patient of the least deviation from their system, and
numerous remonstrances were accordingly made by

202 RAMBLER. NO. 23.

each, as he found his favourite subject omitted or
delayed. Some were angry that The Rambler did
not, like The Spectator, introduce himself to the
acquaintance of the public, by an account of his own
birth and studies, an enumeration of his adventures,
and a description of his physiognomy. Others soon
began to remark that he was a solemn, serious, dic-
tatorial writer, without sprightliness or gayety, and
called out with vehemence for mirth and humour.
Another admonished him to have a special eye upon
the various clubs of this great city, and informed
him that much of The Spectator's vivacity was laid
out upon such assemblies. He has been censured
for not imitating the politeness of his predecessors,
havinor hitherto neglected to take the ladies under
his protection, and give them rules for the just op-
position of colours, and the proper dimensions of
ruffles and pinners. He has been required by one
to fix a particular censure upon those matrons
who play at cards with spectacles ; and another is
very much offended whenever he meets with a spec-
ulation, in which naked precepts are comprised,
without the illustration of examples and characters.
I make not the least question that all these moni-
tors intend the promotion of my design, and the in-
struction of my readers ; but they do not know, or
do not reflect, that an author has a rule of choic^e
peculiar to himself; and selects those subjects which
he is best qualified to treat, by the course of his
studies, or the accidents of his life ; that some topics
of amusement have been already treated with too
much success to invite a competition ; and that he
who endeavours to gain many readers must try vari-
ous arts of invitation, essay every avenue of pleas-
ure, and make frequent changes in his methods of
approach.

NO. 24. 4 RAMBLER. 203

I cannot but consider myself, amidst this tumult
of criticism, as a ship in a, poetical tempest, impelled
at the same time by opposite winds, and dashed by
the waves from every quarter, but held upright by the
contrariety of the assailants, and secured, in some
measure, by multiplicity of distress. Had the opin-
ion of my censurers been unanimous, it might, per-
haps, have overset my resolution ; but, since I lind
them at variance with each other, I can, without
scruple, neglect them, and endeavour to gain the
favour of the public by following the direction of
my own reason, and indulging the sallies of my
own imagination.

No. 24. SATURDAY, JUNE 9, 1750.

— Ntim in sese tentat descendere. — per3. sat. iv. 23.
None, none descends into himself. dktden.

Among the precepts, or aphorisms, admitted by
general consent, and inculcated by frequent repeti'
tion, there is none more famous amonsr the masters
of ancient wisdom, than that compendious lesson,
TvC)t9l aeavrdv, ' Be acquainted with thyself;' ascribed
by some to an oracle, and by others to Chilo, of
Lacedoemon.

This is, indeed, a dictate, which, in the whole ex-
tent of its meaning, may be said to comprise all the
speculation requisite to a moral agent. For what
more can be necessary to the regulation of life, than

204 RAMBLER. NO. 24.

the knowledge of our original, our end, our duties,
and our relation to other beings ?

It is, however, very improbable that the first au-
thor, whoever he was, intended to be understood in
this unlimited and complicated sense ; for of the
inquiries, which in so large an acceptation it would
seem to recommend, some are too extensive for the
powers of man, and some require light from above,
which was not yet indulged to the heathen world.

We might have had more satisfaction concerning
the original import of this celebrated sentence, if
history had informed us, whether it was uttered as
a general instruction to mankind, or as a particular
caution to some private inquirer ; whether it was
applied to some single occasion, or laid down as the
universal rule of life.

There will occur, upon the slightest consideration,
many possible circumstances, in which this monition
might very properly be enforced ; for every error in
human conduct must arise from ignorance in our-
selves, either perpetual or temporary ; and happen
either because we do not know what is best and
fittest, or because our knowledge is, at the time of
action, not present to the mind.

When a man employs himself upon remote and
unnecessary subjects, and wastes his life upon ques-
tions which cannot be resolved, and of which the
solution would conduce very little to the advance-
mem of happiness ; when he lavishes his hours in
calculating the weight of the terraqueous globe, or
in adjusting successive systems of worlds beyond the
reach of the telescope ; he may be very properly
recalled from his excursions by this precept, and
reminded that there is a nearer Being with which
it is his duty to be more acquainted ; and from which
his attention has hitherto been withheld by studies,

NO. 24. KAMBLER. 205

to which he has no other motive than vanity or
curiosity.

The great praise of Socrates is, that he drew the
wits of Greece, by his instruction and example, from
the vain pursuit of natural philosophy to moral in-
quiries, and turned their thoughts from stars and
tides, and matter and motion, upon the various modes
of virtue and relations of life. All his lectures were
but commentaries upon this saying; if we suppose
the knowledge of ourselves recommended by Chilo,
in opposition to other inquiries less suitable to the
state of man.

The great fault of men of learning is still, that
they offend against this rule, and appear willing
to study any thing rather than themselves ; for which
reason they are often despised by those, with whom
they imagine themselves above comparison ; despised,
as useless to common purposes, as unable to con-
duct the most trivial affairs, and unqualified to
perform those offices by which the concatenation of
society is preserved, and mutual tenderness excited
and maintained.

Gelidus is a man of great penetration, and deep
researches. Having a mind naturally formed for
the abstruser sciences, he can comprehend intricate
combinations without confusion ; and being of a
temper naturally cool and equal, he is seldom inter-
rupted by his passions in the pursuit of the longest
chain of unexpected consequences. He has, there-
fore, a long time indulged hopes, that the solution
of some problems, by which the professors of science
have been hitherto bafHed, is reserved for his genius
and industry. He spends his time in the highest
room of his house, into which none of his family are
suffered to enter ; and when he comes down to his
dinner, or his rest, he walks about like a stranger

206 RAMBLER. NO. 24.

that is there only for a day, without any tokens of
regard or tenderness. He has totally divested him-
self of all human sensations : he has neither eye for
beauty, nor ear for complaint ; he neither rejoices
at the good fortune of his nearest friend, nor mourns
for any public or private calamity. Having once
received a letter, and given it to his servant to read,
he was informed that it was written by his brother,
who, being shipwrecked, had swum naked to land,
and was destitute of necessaries in a foreign country.
Naked and destitute ! says Gelidus ; reach down the
last volume of meteorological observations, extract
an exact account of the wind, and note it carefully
in the diary of the weather.'

The family of Gelidus once broke into his study,
to show him that a town at a small distance was on
fire, and in a few moments a servant came to tell
him, that the flame had caught so many houses on
both sides, that the inhabitants were confounded, and
began to think of rather escaping with their lives,
than saving their dwellings. ' What you tell me,'
says Gelidus, 'is very probable, for fire naturally
acts in a circle.'

Thus lives this great philosopher, insensible to
every spectacle of distress, and unmoved by the
loudest call of social nature, for want of considering
that men are designed for the succour and comfort
of each other ; that though there are hours which
may be laudably spent upon knowledge not imme-
diately useful, yet the first attention is due to practi-
cal virtue ; and that he may be justly driven out
from the commerce of mankind, who has so far ab-
stracted himself from the species, as to partake
neither of the joys nor griefs of others, but neglects
the endearments of his wife, and the caresses of his
children, to count the drops of rain, note the changes

NO. 24. RAMBLER. 207

of the wind, and calculate the eclipses of the moons
of Jupiter.

I shall reserve to some future paper the religious
and important meaning of this epitome of wisdom ;
and only remark, that it may be applied to the gay
and light, as well as to the grave and solemn parts
of hfe ; and that not only the philosopher may for-
feit his pretences to real learning, but the wit and
the beauty may miscarry in their schemes, by the
want of this universal requisite, the knowledge of
themselves.

It is surely for no other reason, that we see such
numbers resolutely struggling against nature, and
contending for that which they never can attain, en-
deavouring to unite contradictions, and determined
to excel in characters inconsistent with each other ;
that stockjobbers affect dress, gayety, and elegance,
and mathematicians labour to be wits ; that the sol-
dier teases his acquaintance with questions in theol-
ogy, and the academic hopes to divert the ladies by
a recital of his gallantries. That absurdity of pride
could proceed only from ignorance of themselves,
by which Garth attempted criticism, and Congreve
waved his title to dramatic reputation, and desired
to be considered only as a gentleman.

Euphues, with great parts, and extensive know-
ledge, has a clouded aspect and ungracious form ;
yet it has been his ambition, from his first entrance
into life, to distinguish himself by particularities in
his dress, to outvie beaux in embroidery, to import
new trimmings, and to be foremost in the fashion.
Euphues has turned on his exterior appearance that
attention which would always have produced esteem
had it been fixed upon his mind ; and though his
virtues and abilities have preserved him from the
contempt which he has so diligently solicited, he

208 EAMBLER. NO. 25.

has, at least, raised one impediment to his reputa-
tion ; since all can judge of his dress, but few of his
understanding ; and many who discern that he is a
fop, are unwilUng to beUeve that he can be wise.

There is one instance in which the ladies are par-
ticularly unwilling to observe the rule of Chilo.
They are desirous to hide from themselves the ad-
vances of age, and endeavour too frequently to
supply the sprightliness and bloom of youth by arti-
ficial beauty and forced vivacity. They hope to in-
flame the heart by glances which have lost their
fire, or melt it by languor which is no longer deli-
cate ; they play over the airs which pleased at a
time when they were expected only to please, and
forget that airs in time ought to give place to virtues.
They continue to trifle, because they could once
trifle agreeably, till those who shared their early
j^leasures are withdrawn to more serious engage-
ments ; and are scarcely awakened from their dream
of perpetual youth, but by the scorn of those whom
they endeavour to rival.

No. 25. TUESDAY, JUNE 12, 1750.

— Possunt, quia posse videntur. virg. m^. v. 231.

For they can conquer who believe they can. dryden.

There are some vices and errors which, though
often fatal to those in whom they are found, have

NO. 25. RAMBLER. 209

yet, by the universal consent of mankind, been con-
sidered as entitled to some degree of respect, or
have, at least, been exempted from contemptuous
infamy, and condemned by the severest moralists-
with pity rather than detestation.

A constant and invariable example of this general
partiality will be found in the different regard which
has always been shown to rashness and cowardice,
two vices, of which, though they may be conceived
equally distant from the middle point, where true
fortitude is placed, and may equally injure any
public or private interest, yet the one is never men-
tioned without some kind of veneration, and the
other always considered 'as a topic of unlimited and
licentious censure, on which all the virulence of re-
proach may be lawfully exerted.

The same distinction is made, by the common
suffrage, between profusion and avarice, and, per-
haps, between many other opposite vices ; and, as I
have found reason to pay great regard to the voice
of the people in cases where knowledge has been
forced upon them by experience, without long de-
ductions or deep researches, I am inclined to believe
that this distribution of respect is not without some
agreement with the nature of things ; and that in
the faults, which are thus invested with extraordi-
nary privileges, there are generally some latent prin-
ciples of merit, some possibilities of future virtue,
which may, by degrees, break from obstruction,
and by time and 0})portunity be brought into act.

It may be laid down as an axiom, that it is more
easy to take away superfluities than to suj)ply de-
fects ; and, therefore, he that is culpable, because
he has passed the middle point of virtue, is always
accounted a fairer object of hope, than he who fails
by falling short. The one has all that perfection

VOL. XVI. 14

210 RAMBLER. NO. 25.

requires, and more, but the excess may be easily re-
trenched ; the other wants the qualities requisite to
excellence, and who can tell how he shall obtain
them ? We are certain that the horse may be taught
to keep pace with his fellows, whose fault is that
he leaves them behind. We know that a few strokes
of the axe will lop a cedar ; but what arts of culti-
vation can elevate a shrub ?

To walk with circumspection and steadiness in
the right path, at an equal distance between the
extremes of error, ought to be the constant en-
deavour of every reasonable being ; nor can I think
those teachers of moral wisdom much to be honoured
as benefactors to mankind, who are always enlarg-
ing upon the difficulty of our duties, and providing
rather excuses for vice, than Incentives to virtue.

But, since to most it will happen often, and to all
sometimes, that there will be a deviation towards
one side or the other, we ought always to employ
our vigilance, with most attention, on that enemy
from which there is the greatest danger, and to
stray, if we must stray, towards those parts from
whence we may quickly and easily return.

Among other opposite qualities of the mind which
may become dangerous, though in different degrees,
I have often had occasion to consider the contrary
eff"ects of presumption and despondency ; of heady
confidence, which promises victory without contest,
and heartless pusillanimity, wdilch shrinks back from
the thought of great undertakings, confounds diffi-
culty with Impossibility, and considers all advance-
ment towards any new attainment as irreversibly

prohibited.

Presumption will be easily corrected. Every ex-
periment will teach caution, and miscarriages will
liourly show, that attempts are not always rewarded

NO. 25. RAMBLER. 211

with success. The most precipitate ardour will, in
time, be taught the necessity of methodical gradation
and preparatory measures ; and the most daring con-
fidence be convinced that neither merit, nor abilities,
can command events.

It is the advantage of vehemence and activity,
that they are always hastening to their own refor-
mation ; because they incite us to try whether our
expectations are well grounded, and, therefore, de-
tect the deceits which they are apt to occasion. But
timidity is a disease of the mind more obstinate and
fatal ; for a man once persuaded that any impedi-
ment is insuperable, has given it, with respect to
himself, that strength and weight which it had not
before. He can scarcely strive with vigour and
perseverance, when he has no hope of gaining the
victory; and since he never will try his strength,
can never discover the unreasonableness of his fears.

There is often to be found in men devoted to lit-
erature, a kind of intellectual cowardice, which,
whoever converses much among them, may observe
frequently to depress the alacrity of enterprise, and,
by consequence, to retard the improvement of
science. They have annexed to every species of
knowledge some chimerical character of terror and
inhibition, which they transmit, without much reflec-
tion, from one to another ; they first fright them-
selves, and then propagate the panic to their scholars
and acquaintance. One study is inconsistent with
a lively imagination, another with a solid judgment ;
one is improper in the early parts of life, another
requires so much time, that it is not to be attempted
at an advanced age ; one is dry and contracts the
sentiments, another is diffuse and overburdens the
memory ; one is insufferable to taste and delicacy,
and another wears out life in the study of words,

212 RAMBLER. NO. 25,

and is useless to a wise man, who desires only the
knowledge of things.

But of all the bugbears by which the Infantes
harhati, boys both young and old, have been hitherto
frif>-hted from digressing into new tracts of learning,
none has been more mischievously efficacious than
an opinion that every kind of knowledge requires a
pecuUar genius, or mental constitution, framed for
the reception of some ideas, and the exclusion of
others; and that to him whose genius is not adapted
to the study which he prosecutes, all labour shall be
vain and fruitless, vain as an endeavour to mingle
oil and water, or, in the language of chemistry, to
amalgamate bodies of heterogeneous principles.

This opinion we may reasonably suspect to have
been propagated, by vanity, beyond the truth. It is
natural for those who have raised a reputation by
any science, to exalt themselves as endowed by
Heaven with pecuhar powers, or marked out by an
extraordinary designation for their profession ; and
to frio-ht competitors away by representing the dith-
cultiel with which they must contend, and the ne-
cessity of qualities which are supposed to be not
generally conferred, and which no man can know,
but by experience, whether he enjoys.

To this discouragement it may be possibly an-
wered, that since a genius, whatever it be, is like
fire in the flint, only to be produced by colhsion with
a proper subject, it is the business of every man to
try whether his facuUies may not happily cooperate
with his desires ; and since they whose proficiency
he admires, knew their own force only by the event,
he needs but engage in the same undertaking with
equal spirit, and may reasonably hope for equal

success. ^ ^ , . . IT

There is another species of false intelhgence,

NO. 25. RAMBLER. 213

given by those who profess to show the way to the
summit of knowledge, of equal tendency to depress
the mind with false distrust of itself, and weaken it
by needless solicitude and dejection. When a
scholar whom they desire to animate, consults them
at his entrance on some new study, it is common to
make flattering representations of its pleasantness
and facility. Thus they generally attain one of two
ends almost equally desirable; they either incite
his industry by elevating his hopes, or produce a
high opinion of their own abilities, since they are
supposed to relate only what they have found, and
to have proceeded with no less ease than they prom-
ise to their followers.

The student, inflamed by this encouragement, sets
forward in the new path, and proceeds a few steps
with great alacrity, but he soon finds asperities and
intricacies of which he has not been forewarned,
and imagining that none ever were so entangled or
fatigued before him, sinks suddenly into despair,
and desists as from an expedition in M'hicli fate op-
poses him. Thus his terrors are multiplied by his
hopes, and he is defeated without resistance because
he had no expectation of an enemy.

Of these treacherous instructors, the one destroys
industry, by declaring that industry is vain, the other
by representing it as needless ; the one cuts away
the root of hope, the other raises it only to be
blasted. The one confines his pupil to the shore,
by telling him that his wreck is certain, the other
sends him to sea, without preparing him for tempests.

False hopes and false terrors are equally to be
avoided. Every man who proposes to grow eminent
by learning, should carry in his mind, at once, the
diflSculty of excellence, and the force of industry;
and remember that fame is not conferred but as the

214 RAMBLER. NO. 26.

recompense of labour, and that labour, vigorously
continued, has not often failed of its reward.

No. 26. SATURDAY, JUNE 16, 1750.

Inqentes dominos, et darce nomina fam(B,

'llluatnque graves nobilltate domos
Devita, et longe cautus fuge : contrahe vela,

Et te littoribus cymbaj^ropinqua vehat. senega.

Each mighty lord, big with a pompous name,
And each high house of fortune and of fame,
"With caution fly ; contract thy ample sails,
And near the shore improve the gentle gales.

ELPHINSTON.
"MR. RAMBLER,

" It is usual for men, engaged in the same pur-
suits, to be inquisitive after the conduct and fortune
of each other ; and, therefore, I suppose it will not
be unpleasing to you, to read an account of the vari-
ous changes which have happened in part of a life
devoted to literature. My narrative will not ex-
hibit any great variety of events, or extraordinary
revolutions ; but may, perhaps, be not less useful,
because I shall relate nothing which is not likely to
happen to a thousand others.

" I was born heir to a very small fortune, and
left by my father, whom I cannot remember, to the
care of an uncle. He having no children, always
treated me as his son, and finding in me those qual-
ities which old men easily discover in sprightly

NO. 26. RAMBLER. 215

cliildren, when they happen to love them, declared
that a genius like mine should never be lost for want
of cultivation. He therefore placed me, for the
usual time, at a great scliool, and then sent me to
the university, with a larger allowance than my own
patrimony would have afforded, that I might not
keep mean company, but learn to become my dig-
nity when I should be made lord chancellor, which
he often lamented that the increase of his infirmities
was very likely to preclude him from seeing.

" This exuberance of money displayed itself in
gayety of appearance and wantonness of expense,
and introduced me to the acquaintance of those
whom the same superfluity of fortune betrayed to
the same license and ostentation : young heirs, who
pleased themselves with a remark very frequent in
their mouths, that though they were sent by their
fathers to the university, they were not under the
necessity of living by their learning.

" Among men of this class I easily obtained the
reputation of a great genius, and was persuaded,
that with such liveliness of imagination, and delicacy
of sentiment, I should never be able to submit to
the drudgery of the law. I therefore gave myself
wholly to the more airy and elegant parts of learn-
ing, and was often so much elated with my supe-
riority to the youths with whom I conversed, that I
began to listen, with great attention, to those that
recommended to me a wider and more conspicuous
theatre ; and was particularly touched with an ob-
servation, made by one of my friends : ' That it was
not by lingering in the university that Prior became
ambassador, or Addison secretary of state.'

" This desire was hourly increased by the solici-
tation of my companions, who removing one by one
to London, as the caprice of their relations allowed

216 RAMBLER. NO. 26.

them, or the legal dismission from the hands of their
guardians put in their power, never failed to send
an account of the beauty and felicity of the new
world, and to remonstrate how much was lost by
every hour's continuance in a place of retirement
and constraint.

" My uncle in the mean time frequently harassed
me with monitory letters, which I sometimes neg-
lected to open for a week after I received them, and
generally read in a tavern, with such comments as
might show how much I was superior to instruction
or advice. I could not but wonder how a man con-
fined to the country, and unacquainted with the
present system of things, should imagine himself
qualified to instruct a rising genius, born to give
laws to the age, refine its taste, and multiply its
pleasures.

" The postman, however, still continued to bring
me new remonstrances ; for my uncle was very little
depressed by the ridicule and reproach which he
never heard. But men of parts have quick resent-
ments ; it was impossible to bear his usurpations for-
ever ; and I resolved, once for all, to make him an
example to those who imagine themselves wise be-
cause they are old, and to teach young men, who
are too tame under representation, in what manner
graybearded insolence ought to be treated. I there-
fore one evening took my pen in hand, and after
having animated myself with a catch, wrote a gen-
eral answer to all his precepts, with such vivacity
of turn, such elegance of irony, and such asperity
of sarcasm, that I convulsed a large company with
universal laughter, disturbed the neighbourhood with
vociferations of applause, and five days afterwards
was answered, that I must be content to live on my
own estate.

NO. 26. RAMBLER. 217

" This contraction of my income gave me no dis-
turbance, for a genius like mine was out of the reach
of want. I had friends that would be proud to open
their purses at my call, and prospects of such ad-
vancement as would soon reconcile my uncle, whom,
upon mature deliberation, 1 resolved to receive into
favour, without insisting on any acknowledgment
of his offence, when the splendour of my condition
should induce him to wish for my countenance. I
therefore went up to London, before I had shown
the alteration of my condition by any abatement
of my way of living, and was received by all my
academical acquaintance with triumph and congrat-
ulation. I was immediately introduced among the
wits and men of spirit ; and in a short time had
divested myself of all my scholar's gravity, and ob-
tained the reputation of a pretty fellow.

"You will easily believe that I had no great
knowledge of the world ; yet I had been hindered,
by the general disinclination every man feels to con-
fess poverty, from telling to any one the resolution
of my uncle, and for some time subsisted upon the
stock of money which I had brought with me, and
contributed my share, as before, to all our entertain-
ments. But my pocket was soon emptied, and I
was obliged to ask my friends for a small sum. This
was a favour which we had often reciprocally re-
ceived from one another ; they supposed my wants
only accidental, and therefore willingly supplied
them. In a short time I found a necessity of asking
again, and was again treated with the same civility ;
but the third time they began to wonder what that
old rogue, my uncle, could mean by sending a gentle-
man to town without money ; and when they gave
what I asked for, advised me to stipulate for more
regular remittances.

218 RAMBLER. NO. 26.

" This somewhat disturbed my dream of constant
affluence, but I was three days after completely
awaked ; for entering the tavern, where we met
every evening, I found the waiters remitted their
complaisance, and, instead of contending to light me
up stairs, suffered me to wait for some minutes by
the bar. When I came to my company, I found
them unusually grave and formal, and one of them
took the hint to turn the conversation upon the mis-
conduct of young men, and enlarged upon the folly
of frequenting the company of men of fortune, with-
out being able to support the expense, an observa-
tion which the rest contributed either to enforce by
repetition, or to illustrate by examples. Only one
of them tried to divert the discourse, and endeav-
oured to direct my attention to remote questions and
"common topics.

" A man guilty of poverty easily believes himself
suspected ; I went, however, next morning to break-
fast with him who appeared ignorant of the drift of
the conversation, and by a series of inquiries, draw-
ing still nearer to the point, prevailed on him, not,
perhaps, much against his will, to inform me, that
Mr. Dash, whose father was a wealthy attorney near
my native place, had, the morning before, received
an account of my uncle's resentment, and communi-
cated his intelligence with the utmost industry of
grovelling insolence.

" It was now no longer practicable to consort with
my former friends, unless I would be content to be
used as an inferior guest, who was to pay for his
wine by mirth and flattery ; a character which, if I
could not escape it, I resolved to endure only among
those who had never known me in the pride of
plenty. I changed my lodgings, and frequented the
coffee-houses in a different region of the town ; where

NO. 26. 11 AMBLER. 219

I was very quickly distinguished by several youno-
gentlemen of liigh birth and large estates, and beo-an
again to amuse my imagination with hopes of pre-
ferment, though not quite so confidently as when I
had less experience.

" The first great conquest which this new scene
enabled me to gain over myself was, when I sub-
mitted to confess to a party, who invited me to an
expensive diversion, that my revenues were not
equal to such golden pleasures ; they would not
suffer me, however, to stay behind, and with great
reluctance I yielded to be treated. I took that op-
portunity of recommending myself to some office or
employment, which they unanimously promised to
procure me by their joint interest.

"I had now entered into a state of dependence,
and had hopes, or fears, from almost every man I
saw. If it be unhappy to have one patron, what is
his misery who has many? I was obliged to comply
with a thousand caprices, to concur in a thousand
follies, and to countenance a thousand errors. I
endured innumerable mortifications, if not from
cruelty, at least from negligence, which will creep
in upon the kindest and most delicate minds, when
they converse without the mutual awe of equal con-
dition. I found the spirit and vigour of liberty every
moment sinking in me, and a servile fear of displeas-
ing, stealing by degrees upon all my behaviour, till
no word, or look, or action, was my own. As the
solicitude to please increased, the power of pleasing
grew less, and I was always clouded with diffi-
dence where it was most my interest and wish to
shine.

"My patrons, considering me as belonging to the
community, and, therefore, not the charge of any
particular person, made no scruple of neglecting

220 KAMBLER. NO. 27.

any opportunity of promoting me, which every one
thought more properly the business of another. An
account of my expectations and disappointments, and
the succeeding vicissitudes of my life, I shall give in
my following letter, which will be, I hope, of use to
show how ill he forms his schemes, who expects
happiness without freedom.

" I am," &c.

No. 27. TUESDAY, JUNE 19, 1750.

— Pauperiem veritus, jiotior metalUs
lAhertate caret. — hok. epist. i. 10. 31.

So he, who poverty with horror views,

Who sells his freedom iu exchange for gold,

Freedom for mines of wealth too cheaply sold,

Shall make eternal servitude his fate,

And feel a haughty master's galling weight, francis.

" MR. RAMBLER,

"As it is natural for every man to think himself
of importance, your knowledge of the world will in-
cline you to forgive me, if I imagine your curiosity
so much excited by the former part of my narra-
tion, as to make you desire that I should proceed
without any unnecessary arts of connection. I
shall, therefore, not keep you any longer in sus-
pense, as, perhaps, my performance may not com-
pensate.

"In the gay company with which I was now

NO. 27. KAMBLEK. 221

united, I found those allurements and delights,
which the friendship of young men always affords ;
there was that openness which naturally produced
confidence, that affability which, in some measure,
softened dependence, and that ardour of profession
which incited hope. When our hearts were dilated
with merriment, promises were poured out with
unlimited profusion, and life and fortune were but
a scanty sacrifice to friendship ; but wlien the hour
came, at which any effort was to be made, I had
generally the vexation to find that my interest
weighed nothing against the slightest amusement,
and that every petty avocation was found a suffi-
cient plea for continuing me in uncertainty and
want. Their kindness was, indeed, sincere ; when
they promised, they had no intention to deceive ;
but the same juvenile warmth which kindled their
benevolence, gave force in the same proportion to
every other passion, and I was forgotten as soon as
any new pleasure seized on their attention.

" Vagario told me one evening, that all my per-
plexities should be soon at an end, and desired me,
from that instant, to throw upon him all care of my
fortune, for a post of considerable value was that
day become vacant, and he knew his interest suffi-
cient to procure it in the morning. He desired me
to call on him early, that he might be dressed soon
enough to wait on the minister before any other
application should be made. I came as he appoint-
ed, with all the flame of gratitude, and was told by
his servant, that having found at his lodgings, when
he came home, an acquaintance who was going to
travel, he had been persuaded to accompany him to
Dover, and that they had taken post-horses two
hours before day.

" I was once very near to preferment, by the kind-

222 RAMBLER. NO. 27.

ness of Charinus, who, at my request, went to beg a
place, which he thought me likely to fill with great
reputation, and in which I should have many oppor-
tunities of promoting his interest in return ; and he
pleased himself with imagining the mutual benefits
that we should confer, and the advances that we
should make by our united strength. Away, there-
fore, he went, equally warm with friendship and
ambition, and left me to prepare acknowledgments
against his return. At length he came back, and
told me he had met in his way a party going to
breakfast in the country, that the ladies importuned
him too much to be refused, and that, having passed
the morning with them, he was come back to dress
himself for a ball, to which he was invited for the

evenmg.

"I have suffered several disappointments from
tailors and periwig-makers, who by neglecting to
perform their work withheld my patrons from court ;
and once failed of an establishment for life by the
delay of a servant, sent to a neighbouring shop to
replenish a snuffbox.

" At last, I thought my solicitude at an end, for an
office fell into the gift of Hippodamus's father, who
being then in the country, could not very speedily
fill it, and whose fondness would not have suffered
him to refuse his son a less reasonable request.
Hippodamus, therefore, set forward with great ex-
pedition, and I expected every hour an account of
his success. A long time I waited without any in-
telliffence, but at last received a letter from New-
market, by which I was informed that the races
were begun, and I knew the vehemence of his pas-
sions too well to imagine that he could refuse him-
self his favourite amusement.

" You will not wonder that T was at last weary

NO. 27. RAMBLER. 223

of the patronage of young men, especially as I found
them not generally to promise much greater fidelity
as they advanced in life ; for I observed that what
they gained in steadiness they lost in benevolence,
and grew colder to my interest as they became more
diligent to promote their own. I was convinced
that their liberality was only profuseness, that, as
chance directed, they were equally generous to vice
and virtue, that they were warm but because they
were thoughtless, and counted the support of a friend
only amongst other gratifications of passion.

"My resolution was now to ingratiate myself
with men whose reputation was established, whose
high stations enabled them to prefer me, and whose
age exempted them from sudden changes of inclina-
tion. I was considered as a man of parts, and,
therefore, easily found admission to the table of
Hilarius, the celebrated orator, renowned equally
for the extent of his knowledge, the elegance of his
diction, and the acuteness of his wit. Hilarius re-
ceived me with an appearance of great satisfaction,
produced to me all his friends, and directed to me
that part of his discourse in which he most endeav-
oured to display his imagination. I had now learned
my own interest enough to supply him opportuni-
ties for smart remarks and gay sallies, which I
never failed to echo and applaud. Thus I was
gaining every hour on his affections, till unfortu-
nately, when the assembly was more splendid than
usual, his desire of admiration prompted him to turn
his raillery upon me. I bore it for some time with
great submission, and success encouraged him to
redouble his attacks ; at last my vanity prevailed
over my prudence, I retorted his irony with such
spirit, that Hilarius, unaccustomed to resistance, was
disconcerted, and soon found means of convincing

224 RAMBLER. NO. 27.

me that his purpose was not to encourage a rival,
but to foster a parasite.

"I was then taken into the familiarity of Argutio,
a nobleman eminent for judgment and criticism. He
had contributed to my reputation by the praises
which he had often bestowed upon my writings, in
which he owned that there were proofs of a genius
that might rise to high degrees of excellence, when
time, or information, had reduced its exuberance.
He, therefore, required me to consult him before
the publication of any new performance, and com-
monly proposed innumerable alterations, without
sufficient attention to the general design, or regard
to my form of style and mode of imagination. But
these corrections he never failed to press as indis-
pensably necessary, and thought the least delay of
compliance an act of rebellion. The pride of an
author made this treatment insufferable, and I
thought any tyranny easier to be borne than that
which took from me the use of my understanding.

" My next patron was Eutyches, the statesman,
who was wholly engaged in public affairs, and
seemed to have no ambition but to be powerful and
rich. I found his favour more permanent than that
of the others, for there was a certain price at which
it might be bought ; he allowed nothing to humour,
or to affection, but was always ready to pay liber-
ally for the service that he required. His demands
were, indeed, very often such as virtue could not
easily consent to gratify ; but virtue is not to be
consulted when men are to raise their fortunes by
the favour of the great. His measures were cen-
sured ; I wrote in his defence, and was recompensed
with a place, of which the profits were never re-
ceived by me without the pangs of remembering
that they were the reward of wickedness, a reward

NO. 28. RAMBLER. 225

which nothing but that necessity which the consump-
tion of my Httle estate in these wild pursuits had
brought upon me, hindered me from throwing back
in the face of my corruptor.

" At this time my uncle died without a will, and
I became heir to a small fortune. I had resolution
to throw of the splendour which reproached me to
myself, and retire to a humbler state, in which I
am now endeavouring to recover the dignity of
virtue, and hope to make some reparation for my
crime and follies, by informing others, who may be
led after the same pageants, that they are about to
engage in a course of life, in which they are to
purchase, by a thousand miseries, the privilege of
repentance.

. " I am, &c.,

" EUBULUS."

No. 28. SATURDAY, JUNE 23, 1750.

llli mors gravis incubnt,

Qui, notus nimis omnibus,

Ignotus inoritur sibi. SENECA.

To him, alas ! to him, I fear,

The face of death will terrible appear,

Who in his life, fiatt'ring his senseless pride,

By being known to all the world beside.

Does not himself, when he is dying, know,

Nor what he is, nor whither he 's to go. cowlet. *

I HAVE shown, in a late essay, to what errors
men are hourly betrayed by a mistaken opinion of

VOL. XVI. 15

226 RAMBLER. NO. 28.

their own powers, and a negligent inspection of their
own character. But as I then confined my obser-
vations to common occurrences and familiar scenes,
I think it proper to inquire, how far a nearer ac-
quaintance with ourselves is necessary to our pres-
ervation from crimes as well as follies, and how
much the attentive study of our own minds may
contribute to secure to us the approbation of that
Being, to whom we are accountable for our thoughts
and our actions, and whose favour must finally con-
stitute our total happiness.

If it be reasonable to estimate the difficulty of
any enterprise by frequent miscarriages, it may
justly be concluded that it is not easy for a man to
know himself; for wheresoever we turn our view,
we shall find almost all with whom we converse so
nearly as to judge of their sentiments, indulging
more favourable conceptions of their own virtue
than they have been able to impress upon others,
and congratulating themselves upon degrees of ex-
cellence, which their fondest admirers cannot allow
them to have attained.

Those representations of imaginary virtue are
generally considered as arts of hypocrisy, and as
snares laid for confidence and praise. But I believe
the suspicion often unjust ; those who thus propagate
their own reputation, only extend the fraud by
which they have been themselves deceived ; for this
failing is incident to numbers, who seem to live with-
out designs, competitions, or pursuits ; it appears on
occasions which promise no accession of honour or
of profit, and to persons from whom very little is to
be hoped or feared. It is, indeed, not easy to tell
how far we may be blinded by the love of ourselves,
when we reflect how much a secondary passion can
cloud our judgment, and how few faults a man, in

NO. 28. RAMBLER. 227

the first raptures of love, can discover in the person
or conduct of his mistress.

To lay open all the sources from which error
flows in upon him who contemplates his own char-
acter, would require more exact knowledge of the
human heart, than, perhaps, the most acute and
laborious observers have acquired. And since
falsehood may be diversified without end, it is not
unlikely that every man admits an imposture in
some respect peculiar to himself, as his views have
been accidentally directed, or his ideas particularly
combined.

Some fallacies, however, there are, more fre-
quently insidious, which it may, perhaps, not be
useless to detect, because, though they are gross,
they may be fatal, and because nothing but atten-
tion is necessary to defeat them.

One sophism by which men persuade themselves
that they have those virtues which they really want,
is formed by the substitution of single acts for hab-
its. A miser who once relieved a friend from the
danger of a prison, suffers his imagination to dwell
forever upon his own heroic generosity ; he yields
his heart up to indignation at those who are blind
to merit or insensible to misery, and who can please
themselves with the enjoyment of that wealth which
they never permit others to partake. From any
censures of the world, or reproaches of his con-
science, he has an appeal to action and to knowledge ;
and though his whole life is a course of rapacity and
avarice, he concludes himself to be tender and
liberal, because he has once performed an act of
liberality and tenderness.

As a glass whicli magnifies objects by the ap-
proach of one end to the eye, lessens them by the
application of the other ; so vices are extenuated by

228 RAMBLER. NO. 28.

the inversion of that fallacy, by which virtues are
augmented. Those faults which we cannot conceal
from our own notice, are considered, however fre-
quent, not as habitual corruptions or settled prac-
tices, but as casual failures, and single lapses. A
man who has, from year to year, set his country to
sale, either for the gratification of his ambition or
resentment, confesses that the heat of party now and
then betrays the severest virtue to measures that
cannot be seriously defended. He that spends his
days and night in riot and debauchery, owns that
his passions oftentimes overpower his resolution.
But each comforts himself that his faults are not
without precedent, for the best and the wisest men
have given way to the violence of sudden tempta-
tions.

There are men who always confound the praise
of goodness with the practice, and who believe
themselves mild and moderate, charitable and faith-
ful, because they have exerted their eloquence in
commendation of mildness, fidelity, and other vir-
tues. This is an error almost universal among those
that converse much with dependents, with such
whose fear or interest disposes them to a seeming
reverence for any declamation, however enthusiastic,
and submission to any boast, however arrogant.
Having none to recall their attention to their lives,
they rate themselves by the goodness of their opin-
ions, and forget how much more easily men may
show their virtue in their talk than in their actions.

The tribe is likewise very numerous of those who
regulate their lives, not by the standard of religion,
but the measure of other men's virtue ; who lull their
own remorse with the remembrance of crimes more
atrocious than their own, and seem to believe that
they are not bad while another can be found worse.

NO. 28. RAMBLER. 229

For escaping these and a thousand other deceits,
many expedients have been proposed. Some have
recommended the frequent consuUation of a wise
friend, admitted to intimacy, and encouraged to
sincerity. But this appears a remedy by no means
adapted to general use: for in order to secure the
virtue of one, it presupposes more virtue in two than
will generally be found. In the first, such a desn^e
of rectitude and amendment, as may incline him to
hear his own accusation from the mouth of him whom
he esteems, and by whom, therefore, he will always
hope that his faults are not discovered ; and m the
second, such zeal and honesty, as will make him
content for his friend's advantage to lose his kind-
ness.

A long life may be passed without finding a friend
in whose" understanding and virtue we can equally
confide, and whose opinion we can value at once for
its justness and sincerity. A weak man, however
honest, is not qualified to judge. A man of the
world, however penetrating, is not fit to counsel.
Friends are often chosen for similitude of manners,
and therefore each palliates the other's failings, be-
cause they are his own. Friends are tender, and
unwilling to give pain, or they are interested, and
fearful to offend.

These objections have inclined others to advise,
that he who would know himself, should consult his
enemies, remember the reproaches that are vented
to his face, and listen for the censures that are ut-
tered in private. For his great business is to know
his fauhs, and those malignity will discover, and
resentment will reveal. But this precept may be
often frustrated ; for it seldom happens that rivals or
opponents are suffered to come near enough to know
our conduct with so much exactness as that con-

230

RAMBLER. NO. 28.

science should aOow and reflect the accusation. The
charge of an enemy is often totally false, and com-
monly so mingled with falsehood, that the mind
takes advantage from the failure of one part to dis-
credit the rest, and never suffers any disturbance
afterward from such partial reports.

Yet it seems that enemies have been always found
by experience the most faithful monitors ; for adver-
sity has ever been considered as the state in which
a man most easily becomes acquainted with him-
self, and this etfect it must produce by withdrawing
flatterers, whose business it is to hide our weak-
nesses from us, or by giving loose to mahce, and
license to reproach ; or at least by cutting off those
pleasures which called us away from meditation
on our conduct, and repressing that pride which
too easily persuades us, that we merit whatever we
enjoy.

Part of these benefits it is in every man's power
to procure to himself, by assigning proper portions
of his life to the examination of the rest, and by
putting himself frequently in such a situation by
retirement and abstraction, as may weaken the
influence of external objects. By this practice, he
may obtain the solitude of adversity without its
melancholy, its instructions without its censures, and
its sensibility without its perturbations.

The necessity of setting the world at a distance
from us, when we are to take a survey of ourselves,
has sent many from high stations to the severities of
a monastic life ; and indeed, every man deeply en-
gaged in business, if all regard to another state be
not extinguished, must have the conviction, though,
perhaps, not the resolution of Valdesso, who, when
he solicited Charles the Fifth to dismiss him, being
asked, whether he retired upon disgust, answered

NO. 28. RAMBLER. 231

that he laid down his commission for no other rea-
son but because there ought to be some time for
sober reflection between the life of a soldier and his
death.

There are few conditions which do not entangle
us with sublunary hopes and fears, from which it is
necessary to be at intervals disincumbered, that
we may place ourselves in his presence who views
effects in their causes, and actions in their motives ;
that we may, as Chillingworth expresses it, consider
things as if there were no other beings in the world
but God and ourselves ; or, to use language yet
more awful, may ' commune with our own hearts,
and be still.'

Death, says Seneca, falls heavy upon him who is
too much known to others, and too little to himself;
and Pontanus, a man celebrated among the early
restorers of literature, thought the study of our own
hearts of so much importance, that he has recom-
mended it from his tomb. Sum Joannes Jovianus
Pontanus, quern amaveruM honce imiscE, suspexerunt
viri prohi, honestaverunt reges domini ; jam sets qui
Sim, vel qui potius fuerim ; ego vero te, hospes, noscere
in tenehris nequeo, sed teipsum ut noscas rogo. ' I
am Pontanus, beloved by the powers of literature,
admired by men of worth, and dignified by the mon-
archs of the world. Thou knowest now who I am,
or more properly, who I was. For thee, stranger, I
who am in darkness cannot know thee, but I entreat
thee to know thyself.'

I hope every reader of this paper will consider
himself as engaged to the observation of a precept,
which the wisdom and virtue of all ages have con-
curred to enforce, a precept dictated by philosophers,
inculcated by poets, and ratified by saints.

232 RAMBLER. NO. 29-

No. 29. TUESDAY, JUNE 26, 1750.

Prudens futuri temporis exitum
CaUginosa node pr emit deus,
Rkleique, si mortalis ultra

Fas trepidat. — HOR. CAR. iii. 29. 29.

But God has wisely hid from human sight
The dark decrees of future fate,

And sown their seeds in depth of night;
He laughs at all the giddy turns of state,
When mortals search too soon, and fear too late.

DRTDEN.

There is nothing recommended with greater
frequency among the gayer poets of antiquity, than
the secure possession of the present hour, and the
dismission of all the cares which intrude upon our
quiet, or hinder, by importunate perturbations, the
enjoyment of those delights which our condition
happens to set before us.

The ancient poets are, indeed, by no means mi-
exceptionable teachers of morality ; their precepts
are to be always considered as the sallies of a genius,
intent rather upon giving pleasure than instruction,
eager to take every advantage of insinuation, and,
provided the passions can be engaged on its side,
very little solicitous about the suffrage of reason.

The darkness and uncertainty through which the
heathens were compelled to wander in the pursuit
of happiness, may, indeed, be alleged as an excuse
for many of their seducing invitations to immediate
enjoyment, which the moderns, by whom they have
been imitated, have not to plead. It is no wonder

NO. 29. RAMBLER. 233

that such as had no promise of another state should
eagerly turn their thoughts upon the improvement
of that which was before them ; but surely those
who are acquainted with the hopes and fears of
eternity, might think it necessary to put some
restraint upon their imagination, and reflect that by
echoing the songs of the ancient bachanals, and
transmitting the maxims of past debauchery, they
not only prove that they want invention, but virtue,
and submit to the servility of imitation only to copy
that of which the writer, if he was to live now,
would often be ashamed.

Yet as the errors and follies of a c^reat o^enius
are seldom without some radiations of understand-
ing, by which meaner minds may be enlightened,
the incitements to pleasure are, in those authors,
generally mingled with such reflections upon life,
as well deserve to be considered distinctly from the
purposes for which they are produced, and to be
treasured up as the settled conclusions of extensive
observation, acute sagacity, and mature experience.

It is not without true judgment, that on these oc-
casions, they often warn their readers against in-
quiries into futurity, and solicitude about events
which lie hid in causes yet unactive, and which time
has not brought forward into the view of reason.
An idle and thoughtless resignation to chance, with-
out any struggle against calamity, or endeavour
after advantage, is, indeed, below the dignity of a
reasonable being, in whose power Providence has
put a great part even of his present happiness ; but
it shows an equal ignorance of our proper sphere,
to harass our thoughts with conjectures about things
not yet in being. How can we regulate events, of
which we yet know not whether they will ever
happen ? And why should we think, with painful

234 RAMBLER. NO. 29.

anxiety, about that on which our thoughts can have
no influence ?

It is a maxim commonly received, that a wise
man is never surprised ; and, perhaps, this exemption
from astonishment may be imagined to proceed from
such a prospect into futurity, as gave previous inti-
mation of those evils which often fall unexpected
upon others that have less foresight. But the truth
is, that things to come, except when they approach
very nearly, are equally hidden from men of all de-
grees of understanding ; and if a wise man is not
amazed at sudden occurrences, it is not that he has
thought more, but less upon futurity. He never
considered things not yet existing as the proper ob-
jects of his attention ; he never indulged dreams till
he was deceived by their phantoms, nor ever real-
ized nonentities to his mind. He is not surprised
because he is not disappointed, and he escapes
disappointment because he never forms any ex-
pectations.

The concerns about things to come, that is so
justly censured, is not the result of those general
reflections on the variableness of fortune, the uncer-
tainty of life, and the universal insecurity of all
human acquisitions, which must always be suggested
by the view of the world ; but such a desponding
anticipation of misfortune, as fixes the mind upon
scenes of gloom and melancholy, and makes fear
predominate in every imagination.

Anxiety of this kind is nearly of the same nature
wath jealousy in love, and suspicion in the general
commerce of life ; a temper which keeps the man
always in alarms, disposes him to judge of every
thing in a manner that least favours his own quiet,
fills him with perpetual stratagems of counteraction,
wears him out in schemes to obviate evils which

NO. 29. RAMBLER. 235

never threatened him, and at length, perhaps, con-
tributes to the production of those mischiefs of which
it had raised such dreadful apprehensions.

It has been usual in all ages for moralists to re-
press the swellings of vaiu hope, by representations
of the innumerable casualties to which life is subject,
and by instances of the unexpected defeat of the
wisest schemes of policy, and sudden subversions of
the highest eminences of greatness. It has, per-
haps, not been equally observed, that all these
examples afford the proper antidote to fear as well
as to hope, and may be applied with no less efficacy
as consolations to the timorous, than as restraints to
the proud.

Evil is uncertain in the same degree as good, and
for the reason that we ought not to hope too se-
curely, we ought not to fear with too much dejection.
The state of the world is continually changing, and
none can tell the result of the next vicissitude.
Whatever is afloat in the stream of time, may, when
it is very near us, be driven away by an accidental
blast, which shall happen to cross the general course
of the current. The sudden accidents by which the
powerful are depressed, may fall upon those whose
malice w^e fear; and the greatness by which we ex-
pect to be overborne, may become another proof of
the false flatteries of fortune. Our enemies may
become weak, or we grow strong, before our en-
counter, or we may advance against each other
without ever meeting. There are, indeed, natural
evils which we can flatter ourselves with no hopes
of escaping, and with little of delaying; but of the
ills which are apprehended from human malignity,
or tlie opposition of rival interests, we may always
alleviate the terror by considering that our perse-
cutors are weak and i<jnorant, and mortal like
ourselves.

236 RAMBLER. NO. 29.

The misfortunes which arise from the concurrence
of unhappy incidents should never be suffered to
disturb us before they happen; because, if the breast
be once laid open to the dread of mere possibilities
of misery, life must be given a prey to dismal solici-
tude, and quiet must be lost forever.

It is remarked by old Cornaro, that it is absurd
to be afraid of the natural dissolution of the body,
because it must certainly happen, and can, by no
caution or artifice, be avoided. Whether this senti-
ment be entirely just, I shall not examine; but cer-
tainly if it be improper to fear events which must
happen, it is yet more evidently contrary to right
reason to fear those which may never happen,
and which, if they should come upon us, we cannot
resist.

As we ought not to give way to fear any more
than indulgence to hope, because the objects both
of fear and hope are yet uncertain, so we ought not
to trust the representations of one more than of the
other, because they are both equally fallacious ; as
hope enlarges happiness, fear aggravates calamity.
It is generally allowed, that no man ever found the
happiness of possession proportionate to that expec-
tation which incited his desire, and invigorated his
pursuit ; nor has any man found the evils of life so
formidable in reality as they were described to him
by his own imagination ; every species of distress
brings with it some peculiar supports, some unfore-
seen means of resisting, or power of enduring.
Taylor justly blames some pious persons, who in-
dulge their fancies too much, set themselves, by the
force of imagination, in the place of the ancient
martyrs and confessors, and question the validity of
their own faith because they shrink at the thoughts
of flames and tortures. " It is," says he, " sufficient

NO. 30. RAMBLER. 237

that you are able to encounter the temptations which
now assault you ; when God sends trials, he may
send strength."

All fear is in itself painful ; and when it conduces
not to safety is painful without use. Every con-
sideration, therefore, by which groundless terrors
may be removed, adds something to human happi-
ness. It is likewise not unworthy of remark, that,
in proportion as our cares are employed upon the
future, they are abstracted from the present, from
the only time which we can call our own, and of
which, if w^e neglect the apparent duties, to make
provision against visionary attacks, we shall cer-
tainly counteract our own purpose ; for he, doubtless,
mistakes his true interest, who thinks that he can
increase his safety when he impairs his virtue.

No. 30. SATURDAY, JUNE 30, 1750.

— Vultus itbl tuus
Affuhit pojmlo, gratior it dies,
Et soles melius nitent. HOR. CAK. v. 5. 6.

Whene'er thy countenance divine

Th' attendant people cheers,
The genial suns more radiant shine,

The day more glad appears. elphinstox.

" Mil. RAMBLER,

" Thkre are few tasks more ungrateful, than for
persons of modesty to speak their own praises. In

238 RAMBLER. NO. 30.

some cases, however, this must be done for the gen-
eral good, and a generous spirit will on such occa-
sions assert its merit, and vindicate itself with
becomino; warmth.

" My circumstances, Sir, are very hard and pe-
culiar. Could the world be brought to treat me as
I deserve, it would be a iDublic benefit. This makes
me apply to you, that my case being fairly stated in
a paper so generally esteemed. I may suffer no
longer from ignorant and childish prejudices.

" My elder brother was a Jew. A very respect-
able person, but somewhat austere in his manner ;
highly and deservedly valued by his near relations
and intimates, but utterly unfit for mixing in a larger
society, or gaining a general acquaintance among
mankind. In a venerable old age he retired from
the world, and I, in the bloom of youth, came into
it, succeeding him in all his dignities, and formed,
as I might reasonably flatter myself, to be the ob-
ject of universal love and esteem. Joy and gladness
were born with me ; cheerfulness, good-humour, and
benevolence, always attended and endeared my in-
fancy. That time is long past. So long, that idle
imaginations are apt to fancy me wrinkled, old, and
disagreeable ; but, unless my looking-glass deceives
me, I have not yet lost one charm, one beauty of
my earliest years. However, thus far is too certain,
I am to everybody just what they choose to think
me, so that to very few I appear in my right shape ;
and though naturally I am the friend of human kind,
to few, very few, comparatively, am I useful or
agreeable.

" This is the more grievous, as it is utterly im-
possible for me to avoid being in all sorts of places
and companies ; and I am, therefore, liable to meet
with perpetual affronts and injuries. Though I

NO. 30. RAMBLER. 239

have as natural an antipathy to cards and dice, as
some people have to a cat, many and many an as-
sembly am I forced to endure ; and though rest and
composure are my peculiar joy, am worn out and
harassed to death with journeys by men and women
of quality, who never take one but when I can be
of the party. Some, on a contrary extreme, will
never receive me but in bed, where they spend at
least half of the time I have to stay with them ; and
others are so monstrously ill-bred as to take physic
on purpose when they have reason to expect me.
Those who keep upon terms of more politeness with
me, are generally so cold and constrained in their
behaviour, that I cannot but perceive myself an un-
welcome guest ; and even among persons deserving
of my esteem, and who certainly have a value for
me, it is too evident that generally, whenever I come,
I throw a dulness over the whole company, that I
am entertained with a formal stiff civility, and that
they are glad when I am fairly gone.

" How bitter must this kind of reception be to
one formed to inspire delight, admiration, and love !
To one capable of answering and rewarding the
greatest warmth and delicacy of sentiments !

" I was bred up among a set of excellent people,
who affectionately loved me, and treated me with
the utmost honour and respect. It would be tedious
to relate the variety of my adventures, and strange
vicissitudes of my fortune, in many different coun-
tries. Here in England there was a time when I
lived according to my heart's desire. Whenever I
appeared, public assemblies appointed for my recep-
tion were crowded with persons of quality and fash-
ion, early dressed as for a court, to pay me their
devoirs. Cheerful hospitality everywhere crowned
my board, and I was looked upon in every country

240 RAMBLER. NO. 30.

parish as a kind of social bond between the squire,
the parson, and the tenants. The laborious poor
everywhere blest my appearance : they do so still,
and keep their best clothes to do me honour ; though
as much as I delight in the honest country folks,
they do now and then throw a pot of ale at my head,
and sometimes an unlucky boy will drive his cricket-
ball fiill in my face.

" Even in these my best days there were persons
who thought me too demure and grave. I must,
forsooth, by all means be instructed by foreign
masters, and taught to dance and play. This
method of education was so contrary to my genius,
formed for much nobler entertainments, that it did
not succeed at all.

" I fell next into the hands of a very different set.
They were so excessively scandalized at the gayety
of ray appearance, as not only to despoil me of the
foreign fopperies, the paint and the patches that I
had been tricked out with by my last misjudging
tutors, but they robbed me of every innocent orna-
ment I had from my infancy been used to gather in
the fields and gardens ; nay, they blacked my face,
and covered me all over with a habit of mourning,
and that too very coarse and awkward. I was now
obliged to spend my whole life in hearing sermons,
nor permitted so much as to smile upon any occa-
sion.

" In this melancholy disguise I became a perfect
bugbear to all children and young folks. Wherever
I came there was a general hush, an immediate stop
to all pleasantries of look or discourse ; and not being
permitted to talk with them in my own language at
that time, they took such a disgust to me in those
tedious hours of yawning, that having transmitted it
to their children, I cannot now be heard, though it

NO. 30. RAMBLER. 241

is long; since I have recovered my natural form, and
pleasing tone of voice. "Would they but receive my
visits kindly, and listen to what I could tell them —
let me say it without vanity — how charming a com-
panion should I be ! to every one could I talk on the
subjects most interesting and most pleasing. With,
the great and ambitious, I would discourse of hon-
ours and advancements, of distinctions to which the
whole world should be witness, of unenvied dignities
and durable preferments. To the rich, I would tell
of inexhaustible treasures, and the sure method to
attain them. I would teach them to put out their
money on the best interest, and instruct the lovers
of pleasure how to secure and improve it to the
highest deg^ree. The beautv should learn of me how
to preserve an everlasting bloom. To the afflicted
I would administer comfort, and relaxation to the
busy.

" As I dare promise myself you will attest the
truth of all I have advanced, there is no doubt but
many will be desirous of improving their acquaint-
ance with me ; and that I may not be thought too
difficult, I wdll tell you, in short, how I wish to be
received.

" You must know I equally hate lazy idleness and
hurry. I would everywhere be welcomed at a toler-
ably early hour with decent good-humour and grat-
itude. I must be attended in the great halls
peculiarly appropriated to me with respect ; but I
do not insist upon finery: propriety of appearance
and perfect neatness is all I require. I must at
dinner be treated with a temperate, but cheerful
social meal ; both the neighbours and the poor should
be the better for me. Sometime I must have tete-
a-tete with my kind entertainers, and the rest of my
visit should be spent in pleasant walks and airings

VOL. XVL 16

242 RAMBLER. NO. 31.

among sets of agreeable people, in such discourse
as I shall naturally dictate, or in reading some few-
selected out of those numberless books that are
dedicated to me, and go by my name. A name that,
alas ! as the world stands at present, makes them
oftener thrown aside than taken. As those con-
versations and books should be both well chosen, to
give some advice on that head may possibly furnish
you with a future paper, and any thing you shall
offer on my behalf will be of great service to,
" Good Mr. Rambler,
" Your faithful Friend and Servant,

" Sunday."

No. 31. TUESDAY, JULY 3, 1750.

Non ego mendosos ausim defendere mores,
Falsaque pro vitiis arma tenere meis.

Corrupted manners I shall ne'er defend,
Nor, falsely witty, for my faults contend.

OVID.

ELPHINSTON.

Though the fallibility of man's reason, and the
narrowness of his knowledge, are very liberally
confessed, yet the conduct of those who so willingly
admit the weakness of human nature, seems to dis-
cover that this acknowledgment is not altogether
sincere ; at least, that most make it with a tacit
reserve in favour of themselves, and that, with
whatever ease they give up the claim of their
neighbours, they are desirous of being thought ex-

NO. 31. RAMBLER. 243

empt from faults in their own conduct, and from
error in their opinions.

The certain and obstinate opposition, which we
may observe made to confutation however clear,
and to reproof however tender, is an undoubted
argument, that some dormant privilege is thought to
be attacked ; for as no man can lose what he neither
possesses, nor imagines himself to possess, or be de-
frauded of that to which he has no right, it is rea-
sonable to suppose that those who break out into
fury at the softest contradiction, or the slightest
censure, since they apparently conclude themselves
injured, must fancy some ancient immunity violated,
or some natural prerogative invaded. To be mis-
taken, if they thought themselves liable to mistake,
could not be considered as either shameful or won-
derful, and they would not receive with so much
emotion intelligence which only informed them of
what they knew before, nor struggle with such earn-
estness against an attack that deprived them of
nothing to which they held themselves entitled.

It is related of one of the philosophers, that when
an account was brought him of his son's death, he
received it only with this reflection, ' I knew that
my son was mortal.' He that is convinced of an
error, if he had the same knowledge of his own
weakness, would, instead of straining for artifices,
and brooding malignity, only regard such oversights
as the appendages of humanity, and pacify himself
with considering that he had always known man to
be a fallible being.

If it be true that most of our passions are excited
by the novelty of objects, there is little reason for
doubting that to be considered as subject to faUacies
of ratiocination, or imperfection of knowledge, is, to
a great part of mankind, entirely new ; for it is

244 RAMBLER. NO. 31.

impossible to fall into any company where there is
not some regular and established subordination,
without finding rage and vehemence produced only
by difference of sentiments about things in which
neither of the disputants have any other interest,
than what proceeds from their mutual unwillingness
to give way to any opinion that may bring upon
them the disgrace of being wrong.

I have heard of one that, having advanced some
erroneous doctrines of philosophy, refused to see
the experiments by which they were confuted : and
the observation of every day will give new proofs
with how much industry subterfuges and evasions
are sought to decline the pressure of resistless argu-
ments, how often the state of the question is altered,
how often the antagonist is wilfully misrepresented,
and in how much perplexity the clearest positions
are involved by those whom they happen to oppose.

Of all mortals none seem to have been more in-
fected with this species of vanity, than the race of
writers, whose reputation arising solely from their
understanding, gives them a very delicate sensibility
of any violence attempted on their literary honour.
It is not unpleasing to remark with what solicitude
men of acknowledged abilities will endeavour to
palliate absurdities and reconcile contradictions, only
to obviate criticisms to which all human perform-
ances must ever be exposed, and from which they
can never suffer, but when they teach the world by
a vain and ridiculous impatience to think them of
importance.

Dryden, whose warmth of fancy, and haste of
composition, very frequently hurried him into inac-
curacies, heard himself sometimes exposed to ridi-
cule for having said in one of his tragedies,
I follow Me, which does too fast pursue.

NO. 31. RAMBLER.

245

That no man could at once follow and be followed,
was, it may be thought, too plain to be long dis-
puted ; and the truth is, that Dryden was apparently
betrayed into the blunder by the double meaning of
the word Fate, to which in the former part of the
verse he had annexed the idea of Fortune, and in
the latter that of Death ; so that the sense only was,
'- though pursued by Death, I will not resign my-
self to despair, but will follow Fortune, and do and
suffer what is appointed." This, however, was^ not
completely expressed, and Dryden, being determined
not to give way to his critics, never confessed that
he had been surprised by an ambiguity ; but finding
luckily in Virgil an account of a man moving in a
circle, with this expression, Et se sequiturqiie fugit-
que, " Here," says he, " is the passage in imitation
of which I wrote the line that my critics were pleased
to condemn as nonsense ; not but I may sometimes
write nonsense, though they have not the fortune to
find it."

Every one sees the folly of such mean doublings
to escape the pursuit of criticism; nor is there a
single reader of this poet who would not have paid
him greater veneration, had he shown consciousness
enough of his own superiority to set such cavils at
defiance, and owned that he sometimes slipped into
errors by the tumult of his imagination, and the
multitude of his ideas.

It is happy when this temper discovers itself only
in little things, which may be right or wrong with-
out any influence on the virtue or happiness of man-
kind. We may, with very little inquietude, see a
man persist in a project, which he has found to be
impracticable, live in an inconvenient house because
it was contrived by himself, or wear a coat of a
particular cut, in hopes by perseverance to bring it

246 RAMBLER.

NO. 31.

into fashion. These are, indeed, follies, but they are
only follies, and, however wild or ridiculous, can
very little affect others.

But such pride, once indulged, too frequently
operates upon more important objects, and inclines
men not only to vindicate their errors, but their
vices ; to persist in practices which their own hearts
condemn, only lest they should seem to feel re-
proaches, or be made wiser by the advice of others ;
or to search for sophisms tending to the confusion
of all principles, and the evacuation of all duties,
that they may not appear to act what they are not
able to defend.

Let every man, who finds vanity so far predomi-
nant as to betray him to the danger of this last
degree of corruption, pause a moment to consider
what will be the consequences of the plea which he
is about to offer for a practice to which he knows
himself not led at first by reason, but impelled by
the violence of desire, surprised by the suddenness
of passion, or seduced by the soft approaches of
temptation, and by imperceptible gradations of guilt.
Let^ him consider what he is going to commit by
forcing his understanding to patronize those appetites
which it is its chief business to hinder and reform..

The cause of virtue requires so little art to defend
it, and good and evil, when they have been once
shown, are so easily distinguished, that such apolo-
gists seldom gain proselytes to their party, nor have
their fallacies power to deceive any but those whose
desires have clouded their discernment. All that
the best faculties thus employed can perform, is, to
persuade the hearers that the man is hopeless whom
they only thought vicious, that corruption has passed
from his manners to his principles, that all endeav-
ours for his recovery are without prospect of sue-

NO. 31. RAMBLER. 247

cess, and that nothing remains but to avoid him as
infectious, or hunt liim down as destructive.

But if it be supposed that he may impose on his
audience by partial representations of consequences,
intricate deductions of remote causes, or perplexed
combinations of ideas, which having various relations
appear diflferent as viewed on diflf'erent sides ; that
he may sometimes puzzle the weak and well-mean-
ing, and now and then seduce, by the admiration of
his abilities, a young mind still fluctuating in un-
settled notions, and neither fortified by instruction
nor enlightened by experience ; yet what must be
the event of such a triumph ? A man cannot spend
all this life in frolic: age, or disease, or solitude, will
brino; some hours of serious consideration, and it will
then afibrd no comfort to think, that he has extended
the dominion of vice, that he has loaded himself with
the crime of others, and can never know the extent
of his own wickedness, or make reparation for the
mischief that he has caused. There is not, perhaps,
in all the stores of ideal anguish, a thought more
painful than the consciousness of having propagated
corruption by vitiating principles, of having not only
drawn others from the paths of virtue, but blocked
up the way by which they should return, of having
blinded them to every beauty but the paint of pleas-
ure, and deafened them to every call but the allur-
ing voice of the syrens of destruction.

There is yet anotlier danger in this practice ; men
who cannot deceive others are very often successful
in deceiving themselves ; they weave their sophistry
till their own reason is entangled, and repeat their
positions till they are credited by themselves ; by
often contending they grow sincere in the cause, and
by long wishing for demonstrative arguments, tiiey
at last bring themselves to fancy tluit they have

248 EAMBLER.

NO. 31.

found them. Thej are then at the uttermost verge
of wickedness, and may die without having that
light rekindled in their minds, which their own pride
and contumacy have extinguished.

^ The men who can be charged with fewest failings,
either with respect to abilities or virtue, are generally
most ready to allow them ; for not to dwell on things
of solemn and awful consideration, the humihty of
confessors, the tears of saints, and the dying terrors
of persons eminent for piety and innocence, it is well
known that Cc^sar wrote an account of the errors
committed by him in his Wars of Gaul, and that
Hippocrates, whose name is, perhaps, in rational
estimation greater than Caesar's, warned posterity
against a mistake into which he had fallen. ' So
much,' says Celsus, ' does the open and artless con-
fession of an error become a man, conscious that he
has enough remaining to support his character.'

As all error is meanness, it is incumbent on every
man who consults his own dignity, to retract it as
soon as he discovers it, without fearing any censure
so much as that of his own mind. As justice re-
quires that all injuries should be repaired, it is the
duty of him who has seduced others by bad practices,
or false notions, to endeavour that such as have
adopted his errors should know his retraction, and
that those who have learned vice by his example,
should, by his example, be taught amendment.

NO. 32.

RAMBLER. 249

No. 32. SATURDAY, JULY 7, 1750.

"Oacra re daifiovi^ac Tvxatg jSpoTol akye' exovcflv,
'i2v uv fioipav exv^, Trpdug (^ept, ^rid' ayavaKTEL •
'lua&at. dh npiiza aa^oaov dvvt). — ptthag.

Of all the woes that load the mortal state,
Whate'er thy portion, mildly meet thy fate;
' But ease it as thou canst.— elphinston.

So large a part of human life passes in a state
contrary to our natural desires, that one of the prin-
cipal topics of moral instruction is the art of bearing
calamities ; and such is the certainty of evil, that it
is the duty of every man to furnish his mind with
those principles that may enable him to act under it
with decency and propriety.

The sect of ancient philosophers, that boasted to
have carried this necessary science to the highest
perfection, were the Stoics, or scholars of Zeno,
whose wild enthusiastic virtue pretended to an ex-
emption from the sensibilities of unenlightened mor-
tals, and who proclaimed themselves exalted, by the
doctrines of their sect ; above the reach of those
miseries which imbitter life to the rest of the world.
They, therefore, removed pain, poverty, loss of
friends, exile, and violent death, from the catalogue
of evils ; and passed, in their haughty style, a kind
of irreversible decree, by which they forbad them
to be counted any longer among the objects of terror
or anxiety, or to give any disturbance to the tran-
quillity of a wise man

250 RAMBLER.

NO. 32.

This edict was, I think, not universally observed ;
for though one of the more resolute, when he was
tortured by a violent disease, cried out, that let pain
harass him to its utmost power, it should never force
him to consider it as other than indifferent and neu-
tral ; yet all had not stubbornness to hold out against
their senses ; for a weaker pupil of Zeno is recorded
to have confessed In the anguish of the gout, that
' he now found pain to be an evil.'

It may, however, be questioned, whether these
philosophers can be very properly numbered among
the teachers of patience ; for if pain be not an evil,
there seems no instruction requisite how it may be
borne ; and, therefore, when they endeavour to arm
their followers with arguments against it, they may
be thought to have given up their first position. But
such inconsistencies are to be expected from the
greatest understandings, when they endeavour to
grow eminent by singularity, and employ their
strength in establishing opinions opposite to nature.

The controversy about the reality of external
evils is now at an end. That life has many miseries,
and that those miseries are sometimes, at least, equal
to all the powers of fortitude, is now universally
confessed ; and, therefore, it is useful to consider not
only how we may escape them, but by what means
those, which either the accidents of affairs, or the
infirmities of nature, must bring upon us, may be
mitigated and lightened, and how we may make
those hours less wretched, which the condition of
our present existence will not allow to be very
happy.

The cure for the greatest part of human miseries
is not radical, but palliative. Infelicity is involved
in corporal nature, and interwoven with our being ;
all attempts, therefore, to decline it wholly are use-

NO. 32. RAMBLER. 251

less and vain ; the armies of pain send their arrows
against us on every side, the choice is only between
those which are more or less sharp, or tinged with
poison of greater or less malignity ; and the strongest
armour which reason can supply, will only blunt
their points, but cannot repel them.

The great remedy which Heaven has put in our
hands is patience, by which, though we cannot lessen
the torments of the body, we can in a great measure
preserve the peace of the mind, and shall suffer only
the natural and genuine force of an evil, without
heightening its acrimony, or prolonging its effects.

There is, indeed, nothing more unsuitable to the
nature of man in any calamity than rage and turbu-
lence, which, without examining whether they are
not sometimes impious, are at least always offensive,
and incline others rather to hate and despise than
to pity and assist us. If what we suffer has been
brought upon us by ourselves, it is observed by an
ancient poet, that patience is eminently our duty,
since no one should be angry at feeling that which
he has deserved.

Leniter ex merito quicquid patiare ferendum est.

Let pain deserved without complaint be borne.

And surely, if we are conscious that we have not
contributed to our own sufferings, if punishment falls
upon innocence, or disappointment happens to in-
dustry and ])rudence, patience, whether more neces-
sary or not, is much easier, since our pain is then
without aggravation, and we have not the bitterness
of remorse to add to the asperity of misfortune.

In those evils which are allotted to us by Provi-
dence, such as deformity, privation of any of the
senses, or old age, it is always to be remembered,

252 RAMBLER. NO. 32.

that impatience can have no present effect, but to
deprive us of the consolations which our condition
admits, by driving away from us those by whose
conversation or advice we might be amused or
helped ; and that, with regard to futurity, it is yet
less to be justified, since, without lessening the
pain, it cuts of the hope of that reward which He,
by whom it is inflicted, will, confer upon them that
bear it well.

In all evils which admit a remedy, impatience is
to be avoided, because it wastes that time and atten-
tion in complaints, that, if properly applied, might
remove the cause. Turenne, among the acknow-
ledgments which he used to pay in conversation to
the memory of those by whom he had been in-
structed in the art of war, mentioned one with hon-
our, who taught him not to spend his time in
regretting any mistake which he had made, but
to set himself immediately and vigorously to re-
pair it.

Patience and submission are very carefully to be
distinguished from cowardice and indolence. We
are not to repine, but we may lawfully struggle ; for
the calamities of life, like the necessities of nature,
are calls to labour and exercises of diligence. When
we feel any pressure of distress, we are not to con-
clude that we can only obey the will of Heaven by
languishing under it, any more than when we per-
ceive the pain of thirst, we are to imagine that water
is prohibited. Of misfortune, it never can be cer-
tainly known whether, as proceeding from the hand
of God, it is an act of favour, or of punishment : but
since all the ordinary dispensations of Providence
are to be interpreted according to the general anal-
ogy of things, we may conclude that we have a right
to remove one inconvenience as well as another;

NO. 32. KAMBLER. 253

that we are only to take care lest we purchase ease
with guilt ; and that our Maker's purpose, whether of
reward or severity, will be answered by the labours
which he lays us under the necessity of performing.

This duty is not more difficult in any state thaa
in diseases intensely painful, which may indeed
suffer such exacerbations as seem to strain the
powers of life to their utmost stretch, and leave very
little of the attention vacant to precept or reproof.
In this state the nature of man requires some indul-
gence, and every extravagance but impiety may be
easily forgiven him. Yet, lest we should think our-
selves too soon entitled to the mournful privileges
of irresistible misery, it is proper to reflect that the
utmost anguish which human wit can contrive, or
human malice can inflict, has been borne with con-
stancy ; and that if the pains of disease be, as I
believe they are, sometimes greater than those of
artificial torture, they are therefore in their own
nature shorter ; the vital frame is quickly broken,
or the union between soul and body is for a time
suspended by insensibility, and we soon cease to
feel our maladies when they once become too vio-
lent to be borne. I think there is some reason for
questioning whether the body and mind are not so
proportioned, that the one can bear all that can be
inflicted on the other, whether virtue cannot stand
its ground as long as life, and whether a soul well
principled will not be separated sooner than sub-
dued.

In calamities which operate chiefly on our pas-
sions, such as diminution of fortune, loss of friends,
or declension of character, the chief danger of impa-
tience is upon the first attack, and many expedients
have been contrived, by wliich the blow may be
broken. Of these, the most general precept is, not

254

RAMBLER. NO. 32.

to take pleasure in any thing, of which it is not in
our power to secure the possession to ourselves.
This counsel, when we consider the enjoyment of
any terrestrial advantage as opposite to a constant
and habitual solicitude for future felicity, is undoubt-
edly just, and delivered by that authority which
cannot be disputed ; but in any other sense, is it not
like advice, not to walk lest we should stumble, or not
to see lest our eyes should light upon deformity? It
seems to me reasonable to enjoy blessings with con-
fidence as well as to resign them with submission,
and to hope for the continuance of good which we
possess without insolence or voluptuousness, as for
the restitution of that which we lose without de-,
spondency or murmurs.

The chief security against the fruitless anguish of
impatience, must arise from frequent reflection on
the wisdom and goodness of the God of nature, in
whose hands are riches and poverty, honour and dis-
grace, pleasure and pain, and life and death. A
settled conviction of the tendency of every thino- to
our good, and of the possibility of turning miseines
into happiness, by receiving them rightly, will
incHne us to bless the name of the Lord whether h«
gives or takes away.

NO. 33. RAMBLER.' 255

No. 33. TUESDAY, JULY 10, 1750

Quod caret altemd requie durabile non est. oviD.

Alternate rest and labour long endure.

'o

In the early ages of the world, as is well known to
those who are versed m ancient traditions, when
innocence was yet untainted, and simplicity unadul-
terated, mankind was happy in the enjoyment of
continual pleasure, and constant plenty, under the
protection of Rest ; a gentle divinity, who required
of her worshippers neither altars nor sacrifices, and
whose rites were only performed by prostrations
upon turfs of flowers in shades of jasmine and myrtle,
or by dances on the banks of rivers flowing with milk
and nectar.

Under this easy government the first generations
breathed the fragrance of perpetual spring, ate the
fruits, which, without culture, fell ripe into their
hands, and slept under bovvers arched by nature,
with the birds singing over their heads, and the
beasts sporting about them. But by degrees they
began to lose their original integrity ; each, though
there was more than enough for all, was desirous
of appropriating part to himself. Then entered
Violence and Fraud, and Theft and Rapine. Soon
after Pride and Envy broke into the world, and
brought with them a new standard of wealth ; for
men, who till then thought themselves rich when
they wanted nothing, now rated their demands, not

256 RAMBLER. NO. S3.

bj the calls of nature, but by the plenty of others ;
and began to consider themselves as poor, when
they beheld their own possessions exceeded by those
of their neighbours. Now only one could be happy,
because only one could have most, and that one was
always in danger, lest the same arts, by which he
had supplanted others, should be practised upon
himself.

Amidst the prevalence of this corruption, the state
of the earth was changed ; the year was divided into
seasons ; part of the ground became barren, and the
rest yielded only berries, acorns, and herbs. The
summer and autumn indeed furnished a coarse and
inelegant sufficiency, but winter was without any
relief; Famine, with a thousand diseases, which the
inclemency of the air invited into the upper regions,
made havoc, among men, and there appeared to be
danger lest they should be destroyed before they
were reformed.

To oppose the devastations of Famine, who scat-
tered the ground everywhere with carcases, Labour
came down upon earth. Labour was the son of
Necessity, the nurseling of Hope, and the pupil of
Art ; he had the strength of his mother, the spirit
of his nurse, and the dexterity of his governess. His
face was wrinkled with the wind, and swarthy with
the sun ; he had the implements of husbandry in one
hand, with which he turned up the earth ; in the
other he had the tools of architecture, and raised
walls and towers at his pleasure. He called out
with a rough voice, " Mortals ! see here the power
to whom you are consigned, and from whom you are
to hope for all your pleasures, and all your safety.
You have long languished under the dominion of
Rest, an impotent and deceitful goddess, who can
neither protect nor relieve you, but resigns you to

NO. 33. RAMBLER. 257

the first attacks of either Famine or Disease, and
suffers her shades to be invaded by every enemy,
and destroyed by every accident.

" Awake, therefore, to the call of Labour. I will
teach you to remedy the sterility of the earth, and
the severity of the sky ; I will compel summer to
find provisions for the winter ; I will force the wa-
ters to give you their fish, the air its fowls, and the
forest its beasts ; I will teach you to pierce the
bowels of the earth, and bring out from the caverns
of the mountains metals which shall give strength
to your hands, and security to your bodies, by which
you may be covered from the assaults of the fiercest
beasts, and with which you shall fell the oak, and
divide rocks, and subject all nature to your use and
pleasure."

Encouraged by this magnificent invitation, the
inhabitants of the globe considered Labour as their
only friend, and hasted to his command. He led
them out to the fields and mountains, and showed
them how to open mines, to level hills, to drain
marshes, and change the course of rivers. The face
of things was immediately transformed ; the land
w^as covered with towns and villages, encompassed
with fields of corn, and plantations of fruit-trees ;
and nothing was seen but heaps of grain, and
baskets of fruit, full tables, and crowded store-
houses.

Thus Labour and his followers added every hour
new acquisitions to their conquests, and saw Famine
gradually dispossessed of his dominions ; till at last,
amidst their jollity and triumphs, they were de-
pressed and amazed by the approach of Lassitude,
who was known by her sunk eyes and dejected
countenance. She came forward trembling and
groaning : at every groan the hearts of ail those who

VOL. XVI. 17

258 RAMBLER. NO. 33.

beheld her lost their courage, their nerves slackened,
their hands shook, and the instruments of labour fell
from their grasp.

Shocked with this horrid phantom, they reflected
with regret on their easy compliance with the solici-
tations of Labour, and began to wish again for the
golden hours which they remembered to have passed
under the reign of Rest, whom they resolved again
to visit, and to whom they intended to dedicate the
remaining part of their lives. Rest had not left the
world ; they quickly found her, and to atone for
their former desertion, invited her to the enjoyment
of those acquisitions which Labour had procured
them.

Rest, therefore, took leave of the groves and val-
leys which she had hitherto inhabited, and entered
into palaces, reposed herself in alcoves, and slum-
bered away the winter upon beds of down, and the
summer in artificial grottos with cascades playing
before her. There was, indeed, always something
wanting to complete her felicity, and she could never
lull her returning fugitives to that serenity, which
they knew before their engagements with Labour :
nor was her dominion entirely without control, for
she was obliged to share it with Luxury, though she
always looked upon her as a false friend, by whom
her influence was in reality destroyed, while it
seemed to be promoted.

The two soft associates, however, reigned for
some time without visible disagreement, till at last
Luxury betrayed her charge, and let in Disease to
seize upon her worshippers. Rest then flew away,
and left the place to the usurpers ; who employed
all their arts to fortify themselves in their possession,
and to strengthen the interest of each other.

Rest had not always the same enemy ; in some

NO. 33. RAMBLER. 259

places she escaped the incursions of Disease ; but
had her residence invaded by a more slow and subtle
intruder; for very frequently when every thing was
composed and quiet, when there was neither pain
within, nor danger without, when every flower was
in bloom, and every gale freighted with perfumes,
Satiety would enter with a languishing and repining
look, and throw herself upon the couch placed and
adorned for the accommodation of Rest. No sooner
was she seated than a general gloom spread itself
on every side, the groves immediately lost their
verdure, and their inhabitants desisted from their
melody ; the breeze sunk in sighs, and the flowers
contracted their leaves and shut up their odours.
Nothing was seen on every side but multitudes
wandering about they knew not whither, in quest
they knew not of what ; no voice was heard but of
complaints that mentioned no pain, and murmurs
that could tell of no misfortune.

Rest had now lost her authority. Her followers
again began to treat her with contempt ; some of
them united themselves more closely to Luxury,
who promised by her arts to drive Satiety away ;
and others that were more wise, or had more forti-
tude, went back again to Labour, by whom they
were, indeed, protected from Satiety, but delivered
up in time to Lassitude, and forced by her to the
bowers of Rest.

Thus Rest and Labour equally perceived their
reign of short duration and uncertain tenure, and
their empire liable to inroads from those who were
alike enemies to both. They each found their sub-
jects unfaithful, and ready to desert them upon every
opportunity. Labour saw the riches which he had
given always carried away as an offering to Rest,
and Rest found lier votaries in every exigence flying

260 RAMBLER. NO. 34.

from her to beg help of Labour. They, therefore,
at last determined upon an interview, in which thej
agreed to divide the world between them, and govern
it alternately, allotting the dominion of the day to
one, and that of the night to the other, and promised
to guard the frontiers of each other, so that, when-
ever hostilities were attempted. Satiety should be
intercepted by Labour, and Lassitude expelled by
Rest. Thus the ancient quarrel was appeased, and
as hatred is often succeeded by its contrary, Rest
afterwards became pregnant by Labour, and was
delivered of Health, a benevolent goddess, who con-
solidated the union of her parents, and contributed
to the regular vicissitudes of their reign, by dispens-
ing her gifts to those only who shared their lives in
just proportions between Rest and Labour.

No. 34. SATURDAY, JULY 14, 1750.

— Non sine vano
Aurarum et siliioe. metu. hor. car. i. 23. 3

Alarm'd with every rising gale,

In every wood, in every vale. elpbcinston.

I HAVE been censured for having hitherto dedi-
cated so few of my speculations to the ladies ; and,
indeed, the moralist, whose instructions are accom-
modated only to one half of the human species, must
be confessed not sufficiently to have extended his
views. Yet it is to be considered, that masculine

NO. 34. RAMBLER. 261

duties afford more room for counsels and observa-
tions, as they are less uniform, and connected with
things more subject to vicissitude and accident ; we,
therefore, find that in philosophical discourses which
teach by precept, or historical narratives that instruct
by example, the peculiar virtues or faults of women
fill but a small part ; perhaps, generally too small,
for so much of our domestic happiness is in their
hands, and their influence is so great upon our
earliest years, that the universal interest of the world
requires them to be well instructed in their province ;
nor can it be thought proper that the qualities by
which so much pain or pleasure may be given, should
be left to the direction of chance.

I have, therefore, willingly given a place in my
paper to a letter, which, perhaps, may not be wholly
useless to them whose chief ambition is to please,
as it shows how certainly the end is missed by ab-
surd and injudicious endeavours at distinction.

((

TO THE RAMBLER.

" SIR,

"I am a young gentleman at my own disposal
with a considerable estate ; and having passed
through the common forms of education, spent some
time in foreign countries, and made myself distin-
guished since my return in the politest company; I
am now arrived at that part of life in which every
man is expected to settle, and provide for the contin-
uation of his lineage. I withstood for some time
the solicitations and remonstrances of my aunts and
uncles, but at last was persuaded to visit Antiiea,
an heiress, whose land lies contiguous to mine, and
whose birth and beauty are without objection. Our
friends declared that we were born for eacli other ;

262 RAMBLER. NO. 34.

all tliose on, both sides who had no interest in hin-
dering our union, contributed to promote it, and
were conspiring to hurry us into matrimony before
we had an opportunity of knowing one another. I
was, however, too old to be given away without my
own consent, and having happened to pick up an
opinion, which to many of my relations seemed ex-
tremely odd, that a man might be unhappy with a
large estate, determined to obtain a nearer know-
ledge of the person with whom I was to pass the
remainder of my time. To protract the courtship
was by no means difficult, for Anthea had a wonder-
ful facility of evading questions which I seldom re-
peated, and of barring approaches which I had no
great eagerness to press.

" Tlius the time passed away in visits and civili-
ties, without any ardent professions of love, or for-
mal offers of settlements. I often attended her to
public places, in which, as is well known, all be-
haviour is so much regulated by custom, that very
little insight can be gained into the private character,
and, therefore, I was not yet able to inform myself
of her humour and inclinations.

" At last, I ventured to propose to her to make
one of a small party, and spend a day in viewing a
seat and gardens a few miles distant ; and having,
upon her compliance, collected the rest of the com-
pany, I brought, at the hour, a coach which 1 had
borrowed from an acquaintance, having delayed to
buy one myself, till I should have an opportunity
of taking the lady's opinion for whose use it was in-
tended. Anthea came down, but as she was going
to step into the coach, started back with great ap-
pearance of terror, and told us that she durst not
enter, for the shocking colour of the lining had so
much the air of the mourning-coach in which she

NO. 34. RAMBLER. 263

followed her aunt's funeral three years before, that
she should never have her poor dear aunt out of
her head.

" I knew that it was not for lovers to argue with
their mistresses ; I therefore sent back the coach,
and got another more gay ; into this we all entered,
the coachman began to drive, and we were amusing
ourselves with the expectation of what we should
see, when, upon a small inclination of the carriage,
Anthea screamed out that we w^ere overthrown. We
were obliged to fix all our attention upon her, which
she took care to keep up by renewing her outcries,
at every corner where we had occasion to turn ; at
intervals she entertained us with fretful complaints
of the uneasiness of the coach, and obliged me to
call several times on the coachman to take care and
drive without jolting. The poor fellow endeavoured
to please us, and, therefore, moved very slowly, till
Anthea found out that this pace would only keep us
longer on the stones, and desired that I would order
him to make more speed. He whipped his horses,
the coach jolted again, and Anthea, very complais-
antly, told us how much she repented that she made
one of our company.

"At last we got into the smooth road, and began
to think our difficulties at an end, when, on a sudden,
Anthea saw a brook before us, which she could not
venture to pass. "We were, therefore, obliged to
alight, that we might walk over the bridge ; but when
we came to it, we found it so narrow, that Anthea
durst not set her foot upon it, and was content, after
long consultation, to call the coach back, and with
innumerable precautions, terrors, and lamentations,
crossed the brook.

"It was necessary after this delay to amend our
pace, and directions were accordingly given to the

264 RAMBLER. NO. 34.

coachman, when Anthea informed us, that it was
common for the axle to catch fire with a quick mo-
tion, and begged of me to look out every minute,
lest we should all be consumed. I was forced to
obey, and gave her from time to time the most solemn
declarations that all was safe, and that I hoped we
should reach the place without losing our lives either
by fire or water.

" Thus we passed on, over ways soft and hard,
with more or with less speed, but always with new
vicissitudes of anxiety. If the ground was hard, we
were jolted, if soft, we were sinking. If we went
fast, we should be overturned, if slowly, we should
never reach the place. At length she saw some-
thing which she called a cloud, and began to con-
sider that at that time of the year it frequently
thundered. This seemed to be the capital terror,
for after that the coach was suffered to move on ;
and no dano;er was thouorht too dreadful to be en-
countered, provided she could get into a house be-
fore the thunder.

" Thus our whole conversation passed in dangers,
and cares, and fears, and consolations, and stories of
ladies dragged in the mire, forced to spend all the
night on a heath, drowned in rivers, or burnt with
lightning ; and no sooner had a hairbreadth escape
set us free from one calamity, but we were threatened
with another.

" At length we reached the house where we
intended to regale ourselves, and I proposed to
Anthea the choice of a great number of dishes,
which the place, being well provided for entertain-
ment, happened to afford. She made some objec-
tion to every thing that was offered ; one thing she
hated at that time of the year, another she could
not bear since she had seen it spoiled at Lady Feed-

NO. 34. RAMBLER. 2G5

welFs table ; another she was sure they could not
dress at this house, and another she could not touch
without French sauce. At last she fixed her mind
upon salmon, but there was no salmon in the house.
It was, however, procured with great expedition,
and when it came to the table, she found that her
fright had taken away her stomach, which indeed
she thought no great loss, for she could never be-
lieve that any thing at an inn could be cleanly got.

" Dinner was now over, and the company pro-
posed, for I was now past the condition of making
overtures, that we should pursue our original design
of visiting the sjardens. Anthea declared that she
could not imagine what pleasure we expected from
the sight of a few green trees, and a little gravel,
and two or three pits of clear water ; that for her
part she hated walking till the cool of the evening,
and thought it very likely to rain ; and again wished
that she had stayed at home. We then reconciled
ourselves to our disappointment, and began to talk
on common subjects, when Anthea told us, that
since we came to see gardens, she would not hinder
our satisfaction. We all rose, and walked through
the inclosures for some time, with no other trouble
than the necessity of watching lest a frog should
hop across the way, which Anthea told us would
certainly kill her, if she should happen to see him.

" Frogs, as it fell out, there were none ; but when
we were within a furlong of the gardens, Anthea
saw some sheep, and heard the wether clink his
bell, which she was certain was not hung upon him
for nothing, and therefore no assurances nor entrea-
ties should prevail upon her to go a step further ;
she was sorry to dIsa[>[)oint the company, but her
life was dearer to her than ceremony.

" We came back to the inn, and Anthea now dis-

266 RAMBLER. NO. 34.

covered that there was no time to be lost in return-
ing, for the night would come upon us, and a
thousand misfortunes might happen in the dark.
The horses were immediately harnessed, and An-
thea having wondered what could seduce her to stay
so long, was eager to set out. But we had now a
new scene of terror, every man we saw was a rob-
ber, and we were ordered sometimes to drive hard,
lest a traveller, whom we saw behind, should over-
take us ; and sometimes to stop, lest we should come
up to him who was passing before us. She alarmed
many an honest man, by begging him to spare her
life as he passed by the coach, and drew me into
fifteen quarrels with persons who increased her
fright, by kindly stopping to inquire whether they
could assist us. At last we came home, and she
told her company next day what a pleasant ride she
had been taking.

" I suppose. Sir, I need not inquire of you what
deductions may be made from this narrative, nor
what happiness can arise from the society of that
woman who mistakes cowardice for elegance, and
imagines all delicacy to consist in refusing to be
pleased.

" I am," &c.

NO. 35. RAMBLER.

267

No. 35. TUESDAY, JULY 17, 1750.

— Non pi'onuba Juno,
Ncm Hymenceus adest, non illi Gratia lecto.

OVID. MET. vi. 428.

Without connubial Juno's aid tliey wed;
Nor Hymen nor the Graces bless the bed.

ELPHINSTON.

" TO THE RAMBLER.

" SIR,

" As you have hitherto delayed the performance
of the promise, by which you gave us reason to hope
for another paper upon matrimony, I imagine you
desirous of collecting more materials than your own
experience or observation can supply ; and I shall
therefore lay candidly before you an account of my
own entrance into the conjugal state.

" I was about eight-and-twenty years old, when,
having tried the diversions of the town till I began
to be weary, and being awakened into attention to
more serious business, by the failure of an attorney
to whom I had implicitly trusted the conduct of my
fortune, I resolved to take my estate into my own
care, and methodize my whole life according to the
strictest rules of economical prudence.

"In pursuance of this scheme, I took leave of my
acquaintance, who dismissed me with numberless
jests upon my new system ; having tirst endeavoured
to divert me from a design so little worthy of a man
of wit, by ridiculous accounts of the ignorance and

268 RAMBLER. NO. 35.

rusticity into which many had sunk in their retire-
ment, after having distinguished themselves in tav-
erns and playhouses, and given hopes of rising to
uncommon eminence among the gay part of man-
kind.

" When I came first into the country, which, by
a neglect not uncommon among young heirs, I had
never seen since the death of my father, I found
every thing in such confusion, that, being utterly
without practice in business, I had great difficulties
to encounter in disentangling the perplexities of my
circumstances; they however gave way to diligent
application, and I perceived that the advantage of
keeping my own accounts would very much over-
balance the time which they could require.

"I had now visited my tenants, surveyed my
land, and repaired the old house, which, for some
years, had been running to decay. These proofs
of pecuniary wisdom began to recommend me as a
sober, judicious, thriving gentleman, to all my graver
neighbours of the country, who never failed to cele-
brate my management in opposition to Thriftless
and Latterwit, two smart fellows, who had estates
in the same part of the kingdom, which they visited
now and then in a frolic, to take up their rents
beforehand, debauch a milkmaid, make a feast for
the village, and tell stories of their own intrigues,
and then rode post back to town to spend their
money.

" It was doubtful, however, for some time, whether
I should be able to hold my resolution ; but a short
perseverance removed all suspicions. I rose every
day in reputation, by the decency of my con-
versation, and the regularity of my conduct, and
was mentioned with great regard at the assizes,
as a man very fit to be put in commission for the
peace.

NO. 35. RAMBLER. 269

" During the confusion of my affairs, and the
daily necessity of visiting farms, adjusting contracts,
letting leases, and superintending repairs, I found
very little vacuity in my life, and therefore had not
many thoughts of marriage ; but, in a little while,
the tumult of business subsided, and the exact
method which I had established enabled me to dis-
patch my accounts with great facility. I had, there-
fore, now upon my hands the task of finding means
to spend my time, without falling back into the
poor amusements which I had hitherto indulged, or
changing them for the sports of the field, which I
saw pursued wdth so much eagerness by the gentle-
men of the country, that they were indeed the only
pleasures in which I could promise myself any par-
taker.

" The inconvenience of this situation naturally
disposed me to wish for a companion, and the
known value of my estate, with my reputation for
frugality and prudence, easily gained me admission
into every family ; for I soon found that no inquiry
was made after any other virtue, nor any testimonial
necessary, but of my freedom from incumbrances,
and my care of what they termed the main chance.
I saw, not without indignation, the eagerness with
which the daughters, wdierever I came, were set out
to show ; nor could I consider them in a state much
different from prostitution, when I found them
ordered to play their airs before me, and to exhibit,
by some seeming chance, specimens of their music,
their work, or their housewifery. No sooner was
I placed at table, than the young lady was called
upon to pay me some civility or other; nor could I
find means of escaping, from either father or mother,
some account of their daughter's excellences, with
a declaration that they were now leaving the world,

270 RAMBLER. NO. 35.

and had no business on this side the grave, but to
see their children happily disposed of; that she
whom I had been pleased to compliment at table,
was indeed the chief pleasure of their age, so good,
so dutiful, so great a relief to her mamma in the
care of the house, and so much her papa's favourite
for her cheerfulness and wit, that it would be with
the last reluctance that they should part ; but to a
worthy gentleman in the neighbourhood, whom they
might often visit, they would not so far consult their
own gratification, as to refuse her ; and their tender-
ness should be shown in her fortune, whenever a
suitable settlement was proposed.

" As I knew these overtures not to proceed from
any preference of me before another equally rich, I
could not but look with pity on young persons con-
demned to be set to auction, and made cheap by
injudicious commendations; for how could they
know themselves offered and rejected a hundred
times, without some loss of that soft elevation, and
maiden dignity, so necessary to the completion of
female excellence?

" I shall not trouble you with a history of the
stratagems practised upon my judgment, or the
allurements tried upon my heart, which, if you have,
in any part of your life, been acquainted with rural
politics, you will easily conceive. Their arts have
no great variety, they think nothing worth their care
but money, and supposing its influence the same
upon all the world, seldom endeavour to deceive by
any other means than false computations.

" I will not deny that, by hearing myself loudly
commended for any discretion, I began to set some
value upon my character, and was unwilling to lose
my credit by marrying for love. I therefore re-
solved to know the fortune of the lady whom I

NO. 35. RAMBLER. 271

should address, before I inquired after her wit, deli-
cacy, or beauty.

" This determination led me to Mitissa, the daugh-
ter of Chrysophilus, whose person was at least with-
out deformity, and whose manners were free from
reproach, as she had been bred up at a distance
from all common temptations. To Mitissa, there-
fore, I obtained leave from her parents to pay my
court, and was referred by her again to her father
whose direction she was resolved to follow. The
question then was, only, what should be settled.
The old gentleman made an enormous demand, with
which I refused to comply. Mitissa was ordered
to exert her power; she told me, that if I could
refuse her papa, I had no love for her ; that she
was an unhappy creature, and that I was a perfidi-
ous man ; then she burst into tears and fell into fits.
All this, as I was no passionate lover, had little
effect. She next refused to see me, and because I
thought myself obliged to write in terms of distress,
they had once hopes of starving me into measures ;
but, finding me inflexible, the father complied with
my proposal, and told me he liked me the more for
being so good at a bargain.

"I was now married to Mitissa, and was to expe-
rience the happiness of a match made without pas-
sion. Mitissa soon discovered that she was equally
prudent with myself, and had taken a husband only
to be at her own command, and to have a chariot at
her own call. She brought with her an old maid,
recommended by her mother, who taught her all
the arts of domestic management, and was, on every
occasion, her chief agent and directress. They soon
invented one reason or other, to quarrel with all my
servants, and either prevailed on me to turn them
away, or treated them so ill, that they left me of

272 RAMBLER. NO. 35.

themselves, and always supplied tlieir places with
some brought from my wife's relations. Thus they
established a family, over which I had no authority,
and which was in a perpetual conspiracy against
me ; for Mitissa considered herself as having a sep-
arate interest, and thought nothing her own but
what she laid up without my knowledge. For this
reason she brought me false accounts of the ex-
penses of the house, joined with my tenants in com-
plaints of hard times, and by means of a steward of
her own, took rewards for soliciting abatements of
the rent. Her great hope is to outlive me, that she
may enjoy, what she has thus accumulated, and,
therefore, she is always contriving some improve-
ments of her jointure land, and once tried to procure
an injunction to hinder me from felling timber upon
it for repairs. Her father and mother assist her in
her projects, and are frequently hinting that she is
ill used, and reproaching me with the presents that
other ladies receive from their husbands.

" Such, Sir, was my situation for seven years, till
at last my patience was exhausted, and having one
day invited her father to my house, I laid the state
of my affairs before him, detected my wife in several
of her frauds, turned out her steward, charged a
constable with her maid, took my business in my
own hands, reduced her to a settled allowance, and
now write this account to warn others against
marrying those whom they have no reason to
esteem.

"Iam,"&c.

NO. 36. RAMBLER. 273

No. 36. SATURDAY, JULY 21, 1750.

— "A//' eiTovTO vofj.^eg
TepTTOfievoc avpty^t i6%ov 6' ovre npovor/oav.

HOMER.

— Piping on their reeds, the s"hepherds go,
Nor fear an ambush, nor suspect a foe. pope.

There is scarcely any species of poetry that has
allured more readers, or excited more writers, than
the pastoral. It is generally pleasing, because it
entertains the mind with representations of scenes
familiar to almost every imagination, and of which
all can equally judge whether they are well de-
scribed, it exhibits a life, to which we have been
always accustomed to associate peace, and leisure,
and innocence ; and, therefore, we readily set open
the heart for the admission of its images, which con-
tribute to drive away cares and perturbations, and
suffer ourselves, without resistance, to be transported
to elysian regions, where we are to meet with noth-
ing, but joy, and plenty, and contentment ; where
every gale whispers pleasure, and every shade prom-
ises repose.

It has been maintained by some, who love to talk
of what they do not know, that pastoral is the most
ancient poetry ; and, indeed, since it is probable that
poetry is nearly of the same antiquity with rational
nature, and since the life of the first men was cer-
tainly rural, we may reasonably conjecture, that, as
their ideas would necessarily be borrowed from those

VOL. XVI. 18

274 RAMBLER. NO. 36.

objects with which they were acquainted, their com-
posures, being filled chiefly with such thoughts on
the visible creation as must occur to the first ob-
servers, w^ere pastoral hymns, like those which
Milton introduces the original pair singing, in the
day of innocence, to the praise of their Maker.

For the same reason that pastoral poetry was the
first employment of the human imagination, it is
generally the first literary amusements of our minds.
We have seen fields, and meadows, and groves,
from the time that our eyes opened upon life ; and
are pleased with birds, and brooks, and breezes,
much earlier than we engage among the actions and
passions of mankind. We are, therefore, delighted
with rural pictures, because we know the original
at an age when our curiosity can be very little
awakened, by descriptions of courts which we never
beheld, or representations of passions which we never
felt.

The satisfaction received from this kind of writing
not only begins early, but lasts long; we do not, as
we advance into the intellectual world, throw it away
among other childish amusements and pastimes, but
willingly return to it in any hour of indolence and
relaxation. The images of true pastoral have always
the power of exciting delight, because the works of
nature, from which they are drawn, have always the
same order and beauty, and continue to force them-
selves upon our thoughts, being at once obvious to
the most careless regard, and more than adequate to
the strongest reason and severest contemplation.
Our inclination to stillness and tranquillity is seldom
much lessened by long knowledge of the busy and
tumultuary part of the world. In childhood, we turn
our thoughts to the country, as to the region of
pleasure ; we recur to it in old age as a port of rest,

NO. 36. KAMBLER. 275

and, perhaps, with tliat secondary and adventitious
gladness Avhich every man feels on reviewing those
places, or recollecting those occurrences, that con-
tributed to his youthful enjoyments, and bring him
back to the prime of life, when the world was gay
with the bloom of novelty, when mirth wantoned at
his side, and hope sparkled before him.

The sense of this universal pleasure has invited
' numbers without number/ to try their skill in pas-
toral performances, in which they have generally
succeeded after the manner of other imitators, trans-
mitting the same images in the same combination
from one to another, till he that reads the title of a
poem, may guess at the whole series of the composi-
tion ; nor will a man, after the perusal of thousands
of these performances, find his knowledge enlarged
with a single view of nature not produced beforefor
his imagination amused with any new application
of those views to moral purposes.

The range of ])astoral is, indeed, narrow, for
though njiture itself, philosophically considered, be
inexhaustible, yet its general effects on the eye and
on the ear are uniform, and incapable of much variety
of description. Poetry cannot dwell upon the minu-
ter distinctions, by which one species differs from
another, without departing from that simplicity of
grandeur which fills the imagination ; nor dissect the
latent qualities of things, without losing its general
power of gratifying every mind by recalling its con-
ceptions. However, as each age makes some dis-
coveries, and those discoveries are by degrees
generally known ; as new plants or modes of" cul-
ture are introduced, and by little and little become
common ; pastoral might receive, from time to time,
small augmentations, and exhibit once in a century
a scene somewiiat varied.

276 KAMBLER. NO. 36.

But pastoral subjects have been often, like others,
taken into the hands of those that were not qualified
to adorn them, men to whom the face of nature was
so little known, that they have drawn it only after
their own imagination, and changed or distorted
her features, that their portraits might appear
something more than servile copies from their
predecessors.

Not only the images of rural life, but the occasions
on which they can be properly produced, are few
and general. The state of a man confined to the
employments and pleasures of the country, is so little
diversified, and exposed to so few of those accidents
which produce perplexities, terrors, and surprises,
in more complicated transactions, that he can be
shown but seldom in such circumstances as attract
curiosity. His ambition is without policy, and his
love without intrigue. He has no complaints to
make of his rival, but that he is richer than himself;
nor any disasters to lament, but a cruel mistress, or
•a bad harvest.

The conviction of the necessity of some new source
of pleasure induced Sannazarius to remove the scene
from the fields to the sea, to substitute fishermen for
shepherds, and derive his sentiments from the pisca-
tory life ; for which he has been censured by suc-
ceeding critics, because the sea is an object of terror,
and by no means proper to amuse the mind and lay
the passions asleep. Against this objection he might
be defended by the established maxim, that the poet
has a right to select his images, and is no more
obliged to show the sea in a storm, than the land
under an inundation ; but may display all the pleas-
ures, and conceal the dangers of the water, as he
may lay his shepherd under a shady beech, without
giving him an ague, or letting a wild beast loose
upon him.

NO. 36. RAMBLER. 277

There are, however, two defects in the piscatory
eclogue, which, perhaps, cannot be supplied. The
sea, though in hot countries it is considered by those
who live, like Sannazarius, upon the coast, as a place
of pleasure and diversion, has, notwithstanding,
much less variety than the land, and, therefore, will
be sooner exhausted by a descriptive writer. When
he has once shown the sun rising or setting upon it,
curled its waters with the vernal breeze, rolled the
waves in gentle succession to the shore, and enumer-
ated the fish sporting in the shallows, he has nothing
remaining but what is common to all other poetry,
the complaint of a nymph for a drowned lover, or
the indignation of a fisher that his oysters are re-
fused, and My con's accepted.

Another obstacle to the general reception of this
kind of poetry, is the ignorance of maritime pleas-
ures, in which the greater part of mankind must al-
ways live. To all the inland inhabitants of every
region, the sea is only known as an immense diffu-
sion of waters, over which men pass from one
country to another, and in which life is frequently
lost. They have, therefore, no opportunity of tracing
in their own thoughts the descriptions of winding
shores and calm bays, nor can look on the poem in
which they are mentioned with other sensation
than on a sea chart, or the metrical geography of
Dionysius.

This defect, Sannazarius was hindered from per-
ceiving, by writing in a learned language to readers
generally acquainted with the works of nature ; but
if he had made his attempt in any vulgar tongue,
he would soon have discovered how vainly he had
endeavoured to make that loved, which was not
understood.

I am afraid it will not be found easy to improve

278 RAMBLER. NO. 37.

the pastorals of antiquity, by any great additions or
diversifications. Our descriptions may, indeed, differ
from those of Virgil, as an English from an Italian
summer, and, in some respects, as modern from an-
cient life ; but as nature is in both countries nearly
the same, and as poetry has to do rather with the
passions of men, which are uniform, than their cus-
toms, which are changeable, the varieties, which
time or place can furnish, will be inconsiderable ;
and I shall endeavour to show, in the next paper,
how little the latter ages have contributed to the
improvement of the rustic muse.

No. 37. TUESDAY, JULY 24, 1750.

Canto, qim solitus, si quando armenta vocabat,

Aniphion JDircceus. — virg. ecl. ii. 23.

Such strains I sing as once Aniphion pla^^'d,
When list'ning flocks the powerful call obey'd.

ELPHINSTON.

In writing or judging of pastoral poetry, neither
the authors nor critics of latter times seem to have
paid sufficient regard to the originals left us by an-
tiquity, but have entangled themselves with unneces-
sary difficulties by advancing principles, which,
havino; no foundation in the nature of thino;s, are
wholly to be rejected from a species of composition,
in which, above all others, mere nature is to be re-
garded.

NO. 37. RAMBLER. - 279

It is, therefore, necessary to inquire after some
more distinct and exact idea of this kind of writing.
This may, I think, be easily found in the pastorals
of Yirgil, from whose opinion it will not appear very
safe to depart, if we consider that every advantage
of nature, and of fortune, concuiTed to complete his
productions ; that he was born with great accuracy
and severity of judgment, enlightened with all the
learning of one of the brightest ages, and embellished
with the elegance of the Roman court ; that he em-
ployed his powers rather in improving than invent-
ing, and, therefore, must have endeavoured to
recompense the want of novelty by exactness ;
that, taking Theocritus for his original, he found
pastoral far advanced towards perfection, and that,
having so great a rival, he must have proceeded
with uncommon caution.

If we search the writings of Yirgil, for the true
definition of a pastoral, it will be found a poem in
which any action or passion is represented by its
effects upon a country life. Whatsoever, therefore,
may, according to the common course of things,
happen in the country, may afford a subject for a
pastoral poet.

In this definition, it will immediately occur to
those who are versed in the writings of the modern
critics, that there is no mention of the golden asre.

' CO

I cannot, indeed, easily discover why it is thought
necessary to refer descriptions of a rural state to
remote times, nor can I perceive that any writer
has consistently preserved the Arcadian manners
and sentiments. The only reason, that I have read,
on which this rule has been founded, is, that, ac-
cording to the customs of modern life, it is improb-
able that shepherds should be capable of harmonious
numbers, or delicate sentiments ; and, therefore, the

280 RAMBLER. NO. 37,

reader must exalt his ideas of the pastoral character,
by carrying his thoughts back to the age in which
the care of herds and flocks was the employment of
the wisest and greatest men.

Tliese reasoners seem to have been led into their
hypothesis, by considering pastoral, not in general
as a representation of rural nature, and consequently
as exhibiting the ideas and sentiments of those,
whoever they are, to whom the country affords pleas-
ure or employment, but simply as a dialogue, or
narrative of men actually tending sheep, and busied
in the lowest and most laborious offices ; from whence
they very readily concluded, since characters must
necessarily be preserved, that either the sentiments
must sink to the level of the speakers, or the speakers
must be raised to the height of the sentiments.

In consequence of these original errors, a thousand
precepts have be.en given, which have only contrib-
uted to perplex and confound. Some have thought
it necessary that the imaginary manners of the gold-
en age should be universally preserved, and have,
therefore, believed, that nothing more could be ad-
mitted in pastoral than lilies and roses, and rocks
and streams, among which are heard the gentle
whispers of chaste fondness, or the soft complaints
of amorous impatience. In pastoral, as in other
writings, chastity of sentiment ought doubtless to be
observed, and purity of manners to be represented ;
not because the poet is confined to the images of the
golden age, but because, having the subject in his
own choice, he ought always to consult the interest
of virtue.

These advocates for the golden age lay down
other principles, not very consistent with their gen-
eral plan ; for they tell us, that, to support the
character of the shepherd, it is proper that all re-

NO. 37. RAMBLER. 281

finement should be avoided, and that some slight
instances of ignorance shonld be interspersed. Thus
the shepherd in Virgil is supposed to have forgot
the name of Anaximander, and in Pope the term
Zodiac is too hard for a rustic apprehension. But
if we place our shepherds in their primitive condi-
tion, we may give them learning among their other
qualifications ; and if we suffer them to allude at all
to things of later existence, which, perhaps, cannot
with any great propriety be allowed, there can be
no danger of making them speak with too much ac-
curacy, since they conversed with divinities, and
transmitted to succeeding ages the arts of life.

Other writers, having the mean and despicable
condition of a shepherd always before them, conceive
it necessary to degrade the language of pastoral, by
obsolete terms and rustic words, which they very
learnedly call Doric, without reflecting, that they
thus become authors of a mangled dialect, which no
human being ever could have spoken, that they may
as well refine the speech as the sentiments of their
personages, and that none of the inconsistencies
which they endeavour to avoid, is greater than that
of joining elegance of thought with coarseness of
diction. Spenser begins one of his pastorals with
studied barbarity : —

Diggon Davie, I bid hur good-day :
Or, Diggon hur is, or I missay.
Dig. Hur was hur while it was daylight,

But now hur is a most wretched wight.

What will the reader imagine to be the subject on
which speakers like these exercise their eloquence ?
Will he not be somewhat disappointed, when he
finds them met together to condemn the corruptions
of the church of Rome ? Surely, at the same time

282 RAMBLER. NO. 37.

that a shepherd learns theology, he may gain some
acquaintance with his native language.

Pastoral admits of all ranks of persons, because
persons of all ranks inhabit the country. It ex-
cludes not, therefore, on account of the characters
necessary to be introduced, any elevation or deli-
cacy of sentiment ; those ideas only are improper,
which, not owing their original to rural objects, are
not pastoral. Such is the exclamation in Virgil,

Nunc scio quid sit amor. Durh in cautihus ilium
Ismarus auf, Rodope, atit extremi Garamnntes,
Nee generis nostri puerum, nee sanrjuinis edunt.

viKG. ECL. viii. 43.

I know thee, love, in deserts thou wert bred,

And at the dugs of savage tigers fed;

Alien of birth, usurper of the plains. dryden.

which Pope endeavouring to copy, was carried to
still greater impropriety : —

I know thee, love, wild as the raging main,
More fierce than tigers on the Libyan plain ;
Thou wert from Jitna's burning entrails torn,
Begot in tempests, and in thunders born !

Sentiments like these, as they have no ground in
nature, are, indeed, of little value in any poem; but
in pastoral they are particularly liable to censure,
because it wants that exaltation above common life,
which in tragic or heroic writings often reconciles
us to bold flights and daring figures.

Pastoral being the representation of an action or
passion, by its effects upon a country life, has noth-
ing peculiar but its confinement to rural imagery,
without which it ceases to be pastoral. This is its
true characteristic, and this it cannot lose by any
dignity of sentiment or beauty of diction. The Pollio

NO. 37. RAMBLER. 283

of Yiro"!!, with all its elevation, is a composition
truly bucolic, though rejected by the critics ; for all
the images are either taken from the country, or
from the religion of the age common to all parts of
the empire.

The Silenus is, indeed, of a more disputable kind,
because, though the scene lies in the country, the
sons being relisious and historical, had been no less
adapted to any other audience or place. Neither
can it well be defended as a fiction, for the introduc-
tion of a god seems to imply the golden age, and
yet he alludes to many subsequent transactions, and
mentions Gallus the poet's contemporary.

It seems necessary to the perfection of this poem,
that the occasion which is supposed to produce it, be
at least not inconsistent with a country life, or less
likely to interest those who have retired into places
of solitude and quiet, than the more busy part of
mankind. It is, therefore, improper to give the- title
of a pastoral to verses, in which the speakers, after
the slight mention of their flocks, fall to complaints
of errors in the church, and corruptions in the govern-
ment, or to lamentations of the death of some illus-
trious person, whom, when once the poet has called
a shepherd, he has no longer any labour upon his
hands, but can make the clouds weep, and lilies
wither, and the sheep hang their heads, without art
or learning, genius or study.

It is part of Claudian's character of his rustic,
that he computes his time not by the succession of
consuls, but of harvests. Those who pass their days
in retreats distant from the theatres of business, are
always least likely to hurry their imagination with
public affairs.

The facility of treating actions or events in the
pastoral style, has incited many writers, from whom

284 RAMBLER. NO. 38.

more judgment might have been expected, to put
the sorrow or the joy which the occasion required
into the mouth of Daphne or of Thyrsis ; and as
one absurdity must naturally be expected to make
way for another, they have written with an utter
disregard both of life and nature, and filled their
productions with mythological allusions, with in-
credible fictions, and with sentiments which neither
passion nor reason could have dictated, since the
change which religion has made in the whole sys-
tem of the world.

No. 38. SATURDAY, JULY 28, 1750.

Auream quisquis mediocritaiem
Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti
Soraibus tectl ; caret invidenda

Sobrius aula. hok. car. ii. 10. 6.

The mp.n within the golden mean,

Who can his boldest wish contain,

Securely views the ruin'd cell,

Where sordid want and sorrow dwell;

And in himself sei-enely great,

Declines an envied room of state. francis.

Among many parallels which men of imagination
have drawn between the natural and moral state of
the world, it has been observed that happiness, as
well as virtue, consists in mediocrity ; that to avoid
every extreme is necessary, even to him that has no
other care than to pass through the present state with
ease and safety ; and that the middle path is the

NO. 38. RAMBLER. 285

road of security, on either side of which are not
only the pitfalls of vice, but the precipices of ruin.

Thus the maxim of Cleobulus, the Lindian,
uirpov apiarov, ' Mediocrity is best,' has been long
considered an universal principle, extended through
the whole compass of life and nature. The experi-
ence of every age seems to have given it new con-
firmation, and to show that nothing, however specious
or alluring, is pursued with propriety, or enjoyed
with safety, beyond certain limits.

Even the gifts of nature, which may truly be con-
sidered as the most solid and durable of all terrestrial
advantages, are found, when they exceed the middle
point, to draw the possessor into many calamities,
easily avoided by others that have been less bounti-
fully enriched or adorned. We see every day
women perish with infamy, by having been too will-
ing to set their beauty to show; and others, though
not with equal guilt or misery, yet with very sharp
remorse, languishing in decay, neglect, and obscu-
rity, for having rated their youthful charms at too
high a price. And, indeed, if the opinion of Bacon
be thought to deserve much regard, very few sighs
would be vented for eminent and superlative ele-
gance of form ; ' for beautiful women,' says he, ' are
seldom of any great accomplishments, because they,
for the most part, study behaviour rather than
virtue.'

Health and vigour, and a happy constitution of
the corporeal frame, are of absolute necessity to the
enjoyment of the comforts, and to the performance
of the duties of life, and requisite in yet a greater
measure to the accomplishment of any thing illus-
trious or distinguished ; yet even these, if we can
judge by their apparent consequences, are some-
times not very beneficial to those on whom they are

286 RAMBLER. NO. 38..

most liberally bestowed. They that frequent the
chambers of the sick, will generally find the sharpest
pains, and most stubborn maladies, among them
whom confidence of the force of nature formerly
betrayed to negligence and irregularity ; and that
superfluity of strength, which was at once their
boast and their snare, has often, in the latter part
of life, no other effect than that it continues them
long in impotence and anguish.

These gifts of nature are, however, always bless-
ings in themselves, and to be acknowledged with
gratitude to Him that gives them ; since they are, in
their regular and legitimate effects, productive of
happiness, and prove pernicious only by voluntary
corruption or idle negligence. And as there is little
danger of pursuing them with too much ardour or
anxiety, because no skill or diligence can hope to
procure them, the uncertainty of their influence
upon our lives is mentioned, not to depreciate their
real value, but to repress the discontent and envy
to which the want of them often gives occasion in
those who do not enough suspect their own frailty,
nor consider how much less is the calamity of not
possessing great powers, than of not using them
aright.

Of all those things that make us superior to others,
there is none so much within the reach of our en-
deavours as riches, nor any thing more eagerly or
constantly desired. Poverty is an evil always in
our view, an evil complicated with so many circum-
stances of uneasiness and vexation, that every man
is studious to avoid it. Some degree of riches is
therefore required, that we may be exempt from
the gripe of necessity; when this purpose is once
attained, we naturally wish for more, that the evil
which is regarded with so much horror, may be yet

NO. 38. RAMBLER. ' 287

at a greater distance from us ; as he that has once
felt or dreaded the paw of a savage, will not be at
rest till they are parted by some barrier, which may
take away all possibility of a second attack.

To this point, if fear be not unreasonably indulged,
Cleobulus would, perhaps, not refuse to, extend his
mediocrity. But it almost always happens, that the
man who grows rich changes his notions of poverty,
states his wants by some new measure, and, from
flying the enemy that pursued him, bends his en-
deavours to overtake those whom he sees before
him. The power of gratifying his appetites increases
their demands ; a thousand wishes crowd in upon
him, importunate to be satisfied, and vanity and
ambition open prospects to desire, which still grow
wider, as they are more contemplated.

Thus in tame want is enlarged without bounds ;
an eagerness for increase of possessions deluges the
soul, and we sink into the gulfs of insatiability,
only because we do not sufficiently consider, that all
real need is very soon supplied, and all real danger
of its invasion easily precluded ; that the claims of
vanity, being without limits, must be denied at last ;
and that the pain of repressing them is less pungent
before they have been long accustomed to compli-
ance.

Whosoever shall look heedfully upon those who
are eminent for their riches, will not think their
condition such as that he should hazard his quiet,
and much less his virtue, to obtain it. For all that
great wealth generally gives above a moderate for-
tune, is more room for the freaks of caprice, and
more privilege for ignorance and vice, a quicker
succession of flatteries, and a larger circle of volup-
tuousness.

There is one reason seldom remarked which

288 RAMBLER. NO. 38.

makes riches less desirable. Too much wealth is
very frequently the occasion of poverty. He whom
the wantonness of abundance has once softened, easily
sinks into neglect of his affairs ; and he that thinks
he can afford to be negligent, is not far from being
poor. He will soon be involved in perplexities
which his inexperience will render unsurmountable ;
he will fly for help to those whose interest it is that
he should be more distressed, and will be at last torn
to pieces by the vultures that always hover over for-
tunes in decay.

When the plains of India were burnt up by a long
continuance of drought, Hamet and Raschid, two
neighbouring shepherds, faint with thirsjt, stood at
the common boundary of their grounds, with their
flocks and herds panting round them, and, in ex-
tremity of distress, prayed for water. On a sudden
the air was becalmed, the birds ceased to chirp, and
the flocks to bleat. They turned their eyes every
way, and saw a being of mighty stature advancing
through the valley, whom they knew upon his nearer
approach to be the Genius of Distribution. In one
hand he held the sheaves of plenty, and in the other
the sabre of destruction. The shepherds stood trem-
bling, and would have retired before him ; but he
called to them with a voice gentle as the breeze that
plays in the evening among the spices of Sabaea:
' Fly not from your benefactor, children of the dust !
I am come to offer you gifts, which only your own
folly can make vain. You here pray for water, and
water I will bestow ; let me know with how much
you will be satisfied : speak not rashly ; consider,
that of whatever can be enjoyed by the body, excess
is no less dangerous than scarcity. 'Wlien you
remember the pain of thirst, do not forget the
danger of suffocation. Now, Hamet, tell me your
request.'

NO. 38. KAMBLER. 2^9

' 0 Being, kiiid and beneficent,' says Hamet, 'let
thine eje pardon mj confusion. I entreat a little
brook, which m summer shall never be diy, and in
the winter never overflow.' ' It is granted,' replies
the Genius ; and immediately he opened the ground
with his sabre, and a fountain bubbling up under
their feet scattered its rills over the meadows ; the
flowers renewed their fragrance, the trees spread a
greener foliage, and the flocks and herds quenched
their thirst.

Then turning to Raschid, the Genius invited him
likewise to otfer his petition. 'I request,' says
Raschid, ' that thou wilt turn the Ganges through
my grounds, with all his waters, and all their inhab-
itants.' Hamet was struck with the greatness of
his neighbour's sentiments, and secretly repined in
his heart, that he had not made the same petition
before him ; when the Genius spoke : ' Rash man,
be not insatiable ! remember, to thee that is nothing
which thou canst not use ; and how are thy wants
greater than the wants of Hamet ? ' Raschid repeated
his desire, and pleased himself with the mean ap-
pearance that Hamet would make in the presence
of the proprietor of the Ganges. The Genius then
retired towards the river, and the two shepherds
stood waiting the event. As Raschid was looking
with contempt upon his neighbour, on a sudden was
heard the roar of torrents, and they found by the
mighty stream that the mounds of the Ganges Avere
broken. The flood rolled forward into the lands of
Raschid, his plantations were torn up, his flocks over-
whelmed, he was swept away before it, and a croc-
odile devoured him.

VOL. XVI. 19

290 RAMBLER. NO. 39.

No. 39. TUESDAY, JULY 31, 1750.

Infdvx — nulli bene nupta marito. ausonius.

Unblest, still doom'd to wed with misery.

The condition of the female sex has been fre-
quently the subject of comjDassion to medical writers,
because their constitution of body is such, that every
state of life brings its peculiar diseases : they are
placed, according to the proverb, between Scylla and
Charybdis, with no other choice than of dangers
equally formidable ; and whether they embrace mar-
riage, or determine upon a single life, are exposed,
in consequence of their choice, to sickness, misery,
and death.

It were to be wished that so great degree of nat-
ural mfelicity might not be increased by adventitious
and artificial miseries ; and that beings, whose beauty
we cannot behold without admiration, and whose
delicacy we cannot contemplate without tenderness,
might be suffered to enjoy every alleviation of their
sorrows. But, however it has happened, the custom
of the world seems to have been formed in a kind
of conspiracy against them, though it does not appear
but they had themselves an equal share in its estabhsh-
ment ; and prescriptions which, by whomsoever they
were begun, are now of long continuance, and by
consequence of great authority, seem to have almost
excluded them from content, in whatsoever condition
they shall pass their lives.

NO. 39. RAMBLER. 291

If they refuse the society of men, and continue in
that state which is reasonably supposed to place hap-
piness most in their own power, they seldom give
those that frequent their conversation, any exalted
notions of the blessings of liberty ; for whether it be
that they are angry to see with what inconsiderate
eagerness other heedless females rush into slavery,
or with what absurd vanity the married ladies boast
the change of their condition, and condemn the hero-
ines who endeavour to assert the natural dignity of
theu' sex ; whether they are conscious that, like barren
countries, they are free, only because they were never
thought to deserve the trouble of a conquest, or ima-
gine that their smcerity is not always unsuspected,
when they declare their contempt of men ; it is cer-
tain, that they generally appear to have some great
and incessant cause of uneasiness, and that many of
them have at last been persuaded, by powerful rheto-
ricians, to try the life which they have so long con-
temned, and put on the bridal ornaments at a time
when they least became them.

What are the real causes of the impatience which
the ladies discover in a virgin state, I shall, perhaps,
take some other occasion to examine. That it is not
to be envied for its happiness, appears from the soli-
citude with which it is avoided; from the oj)inion
universally prevalent among the sex, that no woman
continues long in it but because she is not invited to
forsake it ; from the disposition always shown to treat
old maids as the refuse of the world ; and from the
willingness -v^dth which it is often quitted at last, by
those whose experience has enabled them to judge at
leisure, and decide with authority.

Yet such is life, that whatever is proposed, it is
much easier to find reasons for rejectmg than em-
bracing. Marriage, though a certain security from

292 RAMBLER. NO. 39.

the reproacli and solitude of antiquated virginity, has
yet, as it is usually conducted, many disadvantages,
that take away much from the pleasure which society
promises, and might atford, if pleasures and pains
were honestly shared, and mutual confidence inviola-
bly preserved.

The miseries, indeed, wliich many ladies suffer
under conjugal vexations, are to be considered with
great pity, because their husbands are often not taken
by them as objects of affection, but forced upon them
by authority and violence, or by persuasion and im-
portunity, equally resistless when urged by those
whom they have been always accustomed to rev-
erence and obey ; and it very seldom appears, that
those who are thus despotic in the disposal of their
children pay any regard to their domestic and per-
sonal felicity, or think it so much to be inquired
whether they will be happy, as whether they will
be rich.

It may be urged, in extenuation of this crime,
which parents, not in any other respect to be num-
bered with robbers and assassins, frequently commit,
that, in their estimation, riches and happiness are
equivalent terms. They have passed their lives with
no other wish than that of adding acre to acre, and
filling one bag after another, and imagine the advan-
tage of a daughter sufficiently considered, when they
have secured her a large jointure, and given her
reasonable expectations of living in the midst of those
pleasures with which she had seen her father and
mother solacing their age.

There is an economical oracle received among the
prudential part of the world, which advises fathers
' to marry their daughters lest they should marry
themselves ; ' by which I suppose it is implied, that
women left to their own conduct, generally unite

NO. 39. RAMBLER. 293

themselves with such partners as can contribute very
little to theu' felicity. Who was the author of this
maxim, or with what intention it was originally ut-
tered, I have not yet discovered ; but imagine that,
however solemnly it may be transmitted, or however
implicitly received, it can confer no authority which
nature has denied, it cannot license Titius to be un-
just, lest Caia should be imprudent ; nor give right
to imprison for hfe, lest liberty should be ill em-
ployed.

That the ladies have sometimes incurred imputa-
tions which might naturally produce edicts not much
in their favour, must be confessed by their warmest
advocates ; and I have, indeed, seldom observed, that
when the tenderness or virtue of their parents has
preserved them from forced marriage, and left them
at large to choose their own path in the labyrinth of
life, they have made any great advantage of their
liberty ; they commonly take the opportunity of in-
dependence to trifle away youth, and lose their
bloom in a hurry of diversions, recurrmg in a suc-
cession too quick to leave room for any settled
reflection ; they see the world without gaining ex-
perience, and at last regulate their choice by motives
trifling as those of a girl, or mercenary as those of
a miser.

Melanthia came to town upon the death of her
father, with a very large fortune, and with the repu-
tation of a much larger ; she was, therefore, followed
and caressed by many men of rank, and by some of
understanding; but having an insatiable desire of
pleasure, she was not at leisure, from the park, the
gardens, the theatres, visits, assemblies, and mas-
querades, to attend seriously to any proposal, but was
still impatient for a new flatterer, and neglected
marriage as always in her power ; till in time her

294 RAMBLER. NO. 39.

admirers fell away, wearied with expense, disgusted
at her folly, or offended by her inconstancy ; she
heard of concerts to which she was not invited, and
was more than once forced to sit still at an assembly
for want of a partner. In this distress, chance threw
in her way Philotryphus, a man vain, glittering, and
thouglitless as herself, who had spent a small for-
tune in equipage and dress, and was shining m the
last suit for which his tailor would give him credit.
He had been long endeavourmg to retrieve his ex-
travagance by marriage, and, therefore, soon paid
his court to Melanthia, who, after some weeks of
insensibility, saw him at a ball, and was wholly
overcome by his performance in a minuet. They
married ; but a man cannot always dance, and Phil-
otryphus had no other method of j)leasing ; however,
as neither was in any great degree vicious, they live
together with no other unhappiness than vacuity of
mind, and that tastelessness of life, which proceeds
from a satiety of juvenile pleasures, and an utter
inability to fill their place • by nobler employments.
As they have known the fashionable world at the
same time, they agree in their notions of all those
subjects on which they ever speak, and being able
to add nothing to the ideas of each other, are not
much inclined to conversation, but very often join in
one wish, ' That they could sleep more, and think
less.'

Argyris, after having refused a thousand offers,
at last consented to marry Cotylus, the younger
brother of a duke, a man without elegance of mien,
beauty of person, or force of understanding; who,
while he courted her, could not always forbear allu-
sions to her birth, and hints how cheaply she would
purchase an alliance to so illustrious a family. His
conduct from the hour of his marriage has been in-

NO. 40. ■ RAMBLER. 295

sufferably tyrannical, nor has he any other regard
to her than what arises from his desii'e that her
appearance may not disgrace him. Upon this prin-
ciple, however, he always orders that she should be
gayly dressed and splendidly attended ; and she has,
among all her mortifications, the happiness to take
place of her eldest sister.

No. 40. SATURDAY, AUGUST 4, 1750.

— Nee dicei, cur e(]0 nmicum
Offendam in nugis ? Hoe nugce seria ducent
In mala derisum semel. — hor. ars poet. 450.

Nor say, for trifles why should I displease

The man I love ? For trifles such as these

To serious mischiefs lead the man I love,

If once the flatterer's ridicule he prove. francis.

It has been remarked that authors are genus irri-
tahile, a generation very easily put out of temper,
and that they seldom fail of giving proofs of their
irascibility upon the slightest attack of criticism, or
the most gentle or modest offer of advice and in-
formation.

Writers being best acquainted with one another,
have represented this character as prevailing among
men of literature, which a more extensive view oi'
the world w^ould have shown them to be diffused
through all human nature, to mingle itself with every
species of ambition and desire of praise, and to dis-
cover its effects with greater or less restraint, and

296 RAMBLER. NO. 40.

under disguises more or less artful, in all places and
all conditions.

The quarrels of writers, indeed, are more observed,
because they necessarily appeal to the decision of
the public. Their enmities are incited by applauses
from their parties, and prolonged by treacherous
encouragement for general diversion ; and when the
contest happens to rise high between men of genius
and learning, its memory is continued for the same
reason as its vehemence was at first promoted, be-
cause it gratifies the malevolence or curiosity of
readers, and relieves the vacancies of life with amuse-
ment and laughter. The personal disputes, therefore,
of rivals in wit, are sometimes transmitted to poster-
ity, when the grudges and heart-burnings of men less
conspicuous, though carried on with equal bitterness,
and productive of greater evils, are exposed to the
knowledge of those only Avhom they nearly affect,
and suffered to pass off and be forgotten among
common and casual transactions.

The resentment which the discovery of a fault or
folly produces, must bear a certain proportion to our
pride, and will regularly be more acrimonious as
pride is more immediately the principle of action.
In whatever, therefore, we wish or imagine ourselves
to excel, we shall always be displeased to have our
claims to reputation disputed ; and more displeased,
if the accomplishment be such as can expect reputa-
tion only for its reward. For this reason, it is
common to find men break out into rage at any
insinuations to the disadvantage of their wit, who
have borne with great patience reflections on their
morals ; and of women, it has been always known,
that no censure wounds so deeply, or rankles so
long, as that which charges them with want of
beauty.

NO. 40. RAMBLER. 297

As men frequently fill their imaginations with
trifling pursuits, and please themselves most with
things of small importance, I have often known very
severe and lasting malevolence excited by unlucky
censures, which would have fallen without any effect,
had they not happened to wound a part remarkably
tender. Gustulus, who valued himself upon the
nicety of his palate, disinherited his eldest son for
tellino; him that the wine, which he was then com-
mending, was the same which he had sent away the
day before as not fit to be drunk. Proculus with-
drew his kindness from a nephew, whom he had
always considered as the most promising genius of
the age, for haj^peniug to praise in his presence the
graceful horsemanship of Marius. And Fortunio,
when he was privy-councillor, procured a clerk
to be dismissed from one of the public offices, in
which he was eminent for his skill and assiduity, be-
cause he had been heard to say, that there was an-
other man in the kingdom on whose skill at billiards
he would lay his money against Fortunio's.

Felicia and Floretta had been bred up in one
house, and shared all the pleasures and endearments
of infancy together. They entered upon life at the
same time, and continued their confidence and friend-
ship ; consulted each other in every change of their
dress, and every admission of a new lover ; thought
every diversion more entertaining whenever it hap-
pened that both were present, and when separated
justified the conduct, and celebrated the excellences,
of one another. Such was their intimacy, and such
their fidelity; till a birthnight approached, when
Floretta took one morning an opportunity, as they
were consulting upon new clothes, to advise her
friend not to dance at the ball, and informed her that
her performance the year before had not answered

298 RAMBLER. NO. 40.

the expectation which her other accomplishments
had raised. Felicia commended her sincerity, and
thanked her for the caution ; but told her that she
danced to please herself, and was in very little con-
cern what the men might take the liberty of saying,
but that if her appeai"ance gave her dear Floretta
any uneasiness she would stay away. Floretta had
now nothing left but to make new protestations of
sincerity and affection, with which Felicia was so
well satisfied, that they parted with more than usual
fondness. They still continued to visit, with this
only difference, that Felicia was more punctual than
before, and often declared how high a value she put
upon sincerity, how much she thought tliat goodness
to be esteemed which would venture to admonish a
friend of an error, and with what gratitude advice
was to be received, even when it might happen to
proceed from mistake.

In a few months Felicia, with great seriousness
told Floretta, that though her beauty was such as
gave charms to whatever she did, and her qualifica-
tions so extensive, that she could not fail of excel-
lence in any attempt, yet she thought herself obliged
by the duties of friendship to inform her, that if ever
she betrayed want of judgment, it was by too fre-
quent compliance with solicitations to sing, for that
her manner was somewhat ungraceful, and her voice
had no great compass. It is true, says Floretta,
when I sung three nights ago at Lady Sprightly's,
I was hoarse with a cold; but I sing for my own.
satisfaction, and am not in the least pain whether
I am liked. However, my dear Felicia's kindness is
not the less, and I shall always think myself happy
in so true a friend.

From this time they never saw each other with-
out mutual professions of esteem, and declarations

NO. 40. RAMBLER. 299

of confidence, but went soon after into the country
to visit their relations. When thej came back, they
were prevailed on, by the importunity of new ac-
quaintance, to take lodgings in different parts of the
town, and had frequent occasion when they met, to
bewail the distance at which they were placed, and
the uncertainty which each experienced of finding
the other at home;

Thus are the fondest and firmest friendships dis-
solved, by such openness and sincerity as interrupt
our enjoyment of our own approbation, or recall us
to the remembrance of those failings which we are
more willing to indulge than to correct.

It is by no means necessary to imagine, that he
who is offended at advice was ignorant of the fault,
and resents the admonition as a false charge ; for
perhaps it is most natural to be enraged, when there
is the strongest conviction of our own guilt. While
we can easily defend our character, we are no more
disturbed at an accusation, than we are alarmed by
an enemy whom we are sure to conquer ; and whose
attack, therefore, will bring us honour without danger.
But when a man feels the reprehension of a friend
seconded by his own heart, he is easily heated into
resentment and revenge, either because he hoped
that the fault of which he was conscious had escaped
the notice of others ; or that his friend has looked
upon it with tenderness and extenuation, and ex-
cused it for the sake of his other virtues ; or had
considered him as too wise to need advice, or too
delicate to be shocked with reproach : or, because
we cannot feel without pain those reflections roused,
which we have been endeavouring to lay asleep ; and
when pain has produced anger, who would not
willingly beheve, that it ought to be discharged on
others, rather than on hunself ?

300 RAMBLER. NO. 40.

The resentment produced by sincerity, whatever
be its immediate cause, is so certain, and generally
80 keen, that very few have magnanimity sufficient
for the practice of a duty, which, above most others,
exposes its votaries to hardships and persecutions ;
yet friendship without it is of a very little value,
since the great use of so close an intimacy, is, that
our virtues may be guarded and encouraged, and
our vices repressed in their first appearance by time-
ly detection and salutary remonstrances.

It is decreed by Providence, that nothing truly
valuable shall be obtained in our present state, but
with difficulty and danger. He that hopes for that
advantage which is to be gained from unrestrained
communication, must sometimes hazard, by unpleas-
ing truths, that friendship which he aspires to merit.
The chief rule to be observed in the exercise of this
dangerous office, is to preserve it pure from all mixt-
ure of interest or vanity ; to forbear admonition or
reproof, when our consciences tell us that they are
incited, not by the hopes of reforming faults, but the
desire of showing our discernment, or gratifying our
own pride by the mortification of another. It is not
indeed certain, that the most refined caution will
find a proper time for bringing a man to the knowl-
edge of his own failin<2:s, or the most zealous benev-
olence reconcile him to that judgment, by which
they are detected ; but he who endeavours only the
happiness of him whom he reproves, will always
have either the satisfaction of obtaining or deserving
kindness ; if he succeeds, he benefits his friend ; and
if he fails, he has at least the consciousness that he
suffers for only doing well.

NO. 41. RAMBLER. 301.

No. 41. TUESDAY, AUGUST 7, 1750.

Nulla recordanii lux est ingrata gravisque :

Nulla J'uit cujus non meminisse velit.
Ampliat cetatis sjMtium sibi vir bonus : hoc est,

Vivere bis, vita posse priore frui.

MART. EP. X. 23. 5.

No day's remembrance shall the good regret,

Nor wish one bitter moment to forget;

They stretch the limits of this naiTow span,

And, by enjoying, live past life again. f. lewis.

So few of the hours of life are filled up with ob-
jects adequate to the mind of man, and so frequently
are we in want of present pleasure or employment,
that we are forced to have recourse every moment
to the past and future for supplemental satisfactions,
and relieve the vacuities of our being, by recol-
lection of former passages, or anticipation of events
to come.

I cannot but consider this necessity of searching
on every side for matter on which the attention may
be employed, as a strong proof of the superior and
celestial nature of the soul of man. We have no
reason to believe that other creatures have higher
faculties, or more extensive capacities, than the pres-
ervation of themselves, or their species, requires ;
they seem always to be fully employed, or to be
completely at ease without employment, to feel few
intellectual miseries or pleasures, and to have no
exuberance of understanding to lay out upon curios-
ity or caprice, but to have their minds exactly

302 RAMBLER. NO. 41.

adapted to their bodies, with few other ideas than
such as corporal pain or pleasure impress upon
them.

Of memory, which makes so large a part of the
excellence of the human soul, and which has so much
influence upon all its other powers, but a small por-
tion has been allotted to the animal world. We do
not find the grief with which the dams lament the
loss of their young, proportionate to the tenderness
with which they caress, the assiduity with Avhich
they feed, or the vehemence with which they de-
fend them. Their regard for their offspring, when
it is before their eyes, is not, in appearance, less
than that of a human parent ; but when it is taken
away, it is very soon forgotten, and, after a short
absence, if brought again, wholly disregarded.

That they have very little remembrance of any
thing once out of the reach of their senses, and
scarce any power of comparing the present with the
past, and regulating their conclusions from ex-
perience, may be gathered from this, that their in-
tellects are produced in their full perfection. The
sparrow that was hatched last spring makes her first
nest the ensuing season of the same materials, and
with the same art, as in any following year ; and the
hen conducts and shelters her first brood of chickens
with all the prudence that she ever attains.

It has been asked by men who love to perplex
any thing that is plain to common understandings,
how reason differs from instinct ; and Prior has, Avith
no great propriety, made Solomon himself declare,
that, to distinguish them, is the fool's ignorance, and
the pedant's pride. To give an accurate answer to
a question, of which the terms are not completely
understood, is impossible ; we do not know in what
either reason or instinct consist, and, therefore, can-

NO. 41. RAMBLER. 303

not tell with exactness how they differ ; but surely
he that contemplates a ship and a bird's nest, will
not be lono- without findino- out, that the idea of the
one was impressed at once, and continued through
all the progressive descents of the species, without
variation or improvement ; and that the other is the
result of experiments compared with experiments,
has grown, by accumulated observations, from less
to greater excellence, and exhibits the collective
knowledge of different ages and various professions.

Memory is the purveyor of reason, the power
which places those images before the mind upon
which the judgment is to be exercised, and which
treasures u]) the determinations that are once passed,
as the rules of future action, or grounds of subsequent
conclusions.

It is, indeed, the faculty of remembrance, which
may be said to place us in the class of moral agents.
If we were to act only in consequence of some imme-
diate impulse, and receive no direction from internal
motives of choice, we should be pushed forward by
an invincible fatality, without power or reason for the
most part to prefer one thing to another ; because
we could make no comparison but of objects which
might both happen to be present.

We owe to memory not only the increase of our
knowledge, and our progress in rational mquiries,
but many other intellectual pleasures. Indeed, al-
most all that we can be said to enjoy is past or
future ; the present is in perpetual motion, leaves us
as soon as it arrives, ceases to be present before its
presence is well perceived, and is only known to
have existed by the effects which it leaves behind.
The greatest part of our ideas arises, therefore, from
the view before or behind us, and we are happy or

304 RAMBLER. NO. 41.

miserable, according as we are affected by the survey
of our life, or our prospect of future existence.

With regard to futurity, when events are at such
a distance from us, that we cannot take the whole
concatenation into our view, we have generally power
enough over our imagination to turn it upon pleasing
scenes, and can promise ourselves riches, honours,
and delights, without intermingling those vexations
and anxieties with which all human enjoyments are
polluted. If fear breaks in on one side, and alarms
us with dangers and disappointments, we can call in
hope on the other, to solace us with rewards, and
escapes, and victories ; so that we are seldom without
means of palliating remote evils, and can generally
soothe ourselves to tranquillity, whenever any trouble-
some presage happens to attack us.

It is, therefore, I believe, much more common for
the solitary and thoughtful, to amuse themselves with
schemes of the future, than reviews of the past. For
the future is pliant and ductile, and will be easily
moulded by a strong fancy into any form. But the
images which memory presents are of a stubborn
and untractable nature, the objects of remembrance
have already existed, and left their signature behind
them impressed upon the mind, so as to defy all
attempts of rasure or of change.

As the satisfactions, therefore, arising from mem-
ory are less arbitrary, they are more solid, and
are, indeed, the only joys which we can call our
own. Whatever we have once reposited, as Dryden
expresses it, in the secret treasure of the past, is
out of the reach of accident, or violence, nor can
be lost either by our own weakness, or another's
malice : —

— Non tamen irritum
Quodcunque retro est efficiet : neque

NO. 41. RAMBLER. 305

Diffinyet, infecfumque reddet,
Quod fugiens semel hora vexif.

HOE. CAR. iii. 29. 45.

Be fair or foul, or rain or shine,

The joys I have possess' d in spite of fate are mine.
Not heaven itself upon the past has power.
But what has been has been, and I have had my hour.

DRYDEX.

There is certainly no greater happiness than to
be able to look back on a life usefully and vu-tuously
employed, to trace our own progress in existence, by
such tokens as excite neither shame nor sorrow.
Life, in which nothing has been done or suffered to
distinguish one day from another, is to him that has
passed it as if it had never been, except that he is
conscious how ill he has husbanded the great deposit
of his Creator. Life, made memorable by crimes,
and diversified through its several periods by wick-
edness, is, indeed, easily reviewed, but reviewed only
with horror and remorse.

The great consideration which ought to influence
us in the use of the present moment, is to arise from
the effect, which, as well or ill applied, it must have
upon the time to come ; for though its actual exist-
ence be inconceivably short, yet its effects are unlim-
ited; and there is not the smallest point of time
but may extend its consequences, either to our hurt
or our advantage, through all eternity, and give us
reason to remember it forever, with anguish or
exultation.

The time of life, in which memory seems particu-
larly to claim predominance over the other faculties
of the mind, is our declining age. It has been re-
marked by former writers, that old men are gener-
ally narrative, and fall easily into recitals of past
transactions, and accounts of persons known to them

VOL. XVI. 20

306 RAMBLER. NO. 41.

in their youth. When we approach the verge of the
grave it is more eminently true : —

Vitce summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam.

HOK. CAR. i. 4. 15.

Life's span forbids thee to extend thy cares,

And stretch thy hopes beyond thy years. creech.

We have no longer any possibility of great vicis-
situdes in our favour; the changes which are to
happen in the world will come too late for our ac-
commodation; and those who have no hope before
them, and to whom their present state is painful and
irksome, must of necessity turn their thoughts back
to try what retrospect will afford. It ought, there-
fore, to be the care of those who wish to pass the
last hours with comfort, to lay up such a treasure of
pleasing ideas, as shall support the expenses of that
time, which is to depend wholly upon the fund al-
ready acquired.

— Petite hinc^juvenesque senesque
Finem animo cerium, miserisque viatica curis

Seek here, ye young, the anchor of your mind ;
Here, suflfering age, a bless' d provision find.

ELPHINSTON.

In youth, however unhappy, we solace ourselves
with the hope of better fortune, and however vicious,
appease our consciences with intentions of repent-
ance ; but the time comes at last, in which life has
no more to promise, in which happiness can be drawn
only from recollection, and virtue will be all that we
can recollect with pleasure.

NO. 42. RAMBLER. 307

No. 42. SATURDAY, AUGUST 11, 1750.

— JUihi tarda fluuni ingrataque tempora. —

HOE. EPIST. i. 1. 23.

How heavily my time revolves along. elphin'ston.

" TO THE RAMBLER.
"mr. kambler,

"I AM no great admirer of grave writings, and,
therefore, very frequently lay your papers aside be-
fore I have read them through ; yet I cannot but
confess that, by slow degrees, you have raised my
opmion of your understanding, and that, though I
believe it will be long before I can be prevailed upon
to regard you with much kindness, you have, how-
ever, more of my esteem than those whom I some-
times make happy with opportunities to fill my
teapot, or pick up my fan. I shall, therefore, choose
you for the confidant of my distresses, and ask your
counsel with regard to the means of conquering or
escaping them, though I never expect from you'any
of that softness and pliancy, which constitutes the
perfection of a companion for the ladies ; as, in the
place where I now am, I have recourse to the mastiflf
for protection, though I have no intention of making
him a lapdog.

" My mamma is a very fine lady, who has more
numerous and more frequent assembHes at our house,
than any other person in the same quarter of the
town. I was bred from my earliest infancy in a

308 RAMBLER. NO. 42.

perpetual tumult of pleasure, and remember to have
heard of little else than messages, visits, play-houses,
and balls ; of the awkwardness of one woman, and
the coquetry of another ; the charming convenience
of some rising fashion, the difficulty of playing a new
game, the incidents of a masquerade, and the dresses
of a court-night. I knew before I was ten years old
all the rules of paying and receiving visits, and to
how much civility every one of my acquaintance
was entitled : and was able to return, with the proper
degree of reserve, or of vivacity, the stated and estab-
lished answer to every compliment; so that I was
very soon celebrated as a wit and a beauty, and had
heard before I was thirteen all that is ever said
to a young lady. My mother was generous to so
uncommon a degree as to be pleased with my ad-
vance into life, and allowed me, without envy or
reproof, to enjoy the same happiness with herself;
though most women about her own age were very
angry to see young girls so forward, and many fine
gentlemen told her how cruel it was to throw new
chains upon mankind, and to tyrannize over them at
the same time with her own charms, and those of
her daughter.

" I have now lived two and twenty years, and
have passed of each year nine months in town, and
three at Richmond ; so that my time has been spent
uniformly in the same company, and the same
amusements, except as fashion has introduced new
diversions, or the revolutions of the gay world have
afforded new successions of wits and beaus. How-
ever, my mother is so good an economist of pleasure,
that I have no spare hours upon my hands ; for
every morning brings some new appointment, and
every night is hurried away by the necessity of
making our appearance at different places, and of

NO. 42. RAMBLER. 309

being with one lady at the opera, and with another
at the card-table.

" When the time came of settling our scheme of
felicity for the summer, it was determined that I
should pay a visit to a rich aunt in a remote country.
As you know the chief conversation of all tea-tables,
in the spring, arises from a communication of the
manner in which time is to be passed till winter, it
was a great rehef to the barrenness of our topics, to
relate the pleasures that were in store for me, to
describe my uncle's seat, with the park and gardens,
the charming walks and beautiful waterfalls ; and
every one told me how much she envied me, and
what satisfaction she had once enjoyed in a situation
of the same kind.

" As we are all credulous in our own favour, and
wilUng to imagine some latent satisfaction in any
thing which we have not experienced, I will confess
to you, without restraint, that I had suffered my
head to be filled with expectations of some nameless
pleasure in a rural Hfe, and that I hoped for the
happy hour that should set me free from noise, and
flutter, and ceremony, dismiss me to the peaceful
shade, and lull me in content and tranquillity. To
solace myself under the misery of delay, I some-
times heard a studious lady of my acquaintance read
pastorals, I was delighted with scarce any talk but
of leaving the town, and never went to bed with-
out dreaming of groves, and meadows, and frisking
lambs.

" At length I had all my clothes in a trunk, and
saw the coach at the door ; I sprung in with ecstasy,
quarrelled with my maid for being too long in tak-
ing leave of the other servants, and rejoiced as the
ground grew less which lay between me and the
completion of my wishes. A few days brought me

310 RAMBLER. NO. 42.

to a large old house, encompassed on three sides
with woody hills, and looking from the front on a
gentle river, the sight of which renewed all my ex-
pectations of pleasure, and gave me some regret for
having lived so long without the enjoyment which
these delightful scenes were now to afford me. My
aunt came out to receive me, but in a dress so far
removed from the present fashion, that I could
scarcely look upon her without laughter, which
would have been no kind requital for the trouble
which she had taken to make herself fine against
my arrival. The night and the next morning were
driven along with inquiries about our family ; my
aunt then explained our pedigree, and told me stories
of my great-grandfather's bravery in the civil wars ;
nor was it less than three days before 1 could per-
suade her to leave me to myself.

" At last, economy prevailed ; she went in the
usual manner about her own affairs, and I was at
liberty to range in the wilderness, and sit by the
cascade. The novelty of the objects about me
pleased me for a while, but after a few days they
were new no longer, and I soon began to perceive
that the country was not my element ; that shades,
and flowers, and lawns, and waters, had very soon
exhausted all their power of pleasing, and that I
had not in myself any fund of satisfaction with which
I could supply the loss of my customary amuse-
ments.

" I unhappily told my aunt, in the first warmth of
our embraces, that I had leave to stay with her ten
weeks. Six only are yet gone, and how shall I live
through the remaining four ? I go out and return ; I
pluck a flower, and throw it away; I catch an insect,
and when I have examined its colours, set it at
liberty ; I fling a pebble mto the water, and see one

NO. 42. RAMBLER. 311

circle spread after anotlier. "When it chances to
rain, I walk in the great hall, and watch the minute-
hand upon the dial, or play with a litter of kittens,
which the cat happens to have brought in a lucky
time.

" My aimt is afraid I shall grow melancholy, and
therefore encourages the neighbonring gentry to visit
us. They came at first with great eagerness to see
the fine lady from London, but when ^e met, we
had no common topic on which we could converse ;
they had no curiosity after plays, operas, or music ;
and I find as little satisfaction from theu' accounts
of the quarrels or alliances of families, whose names,
when once I can escape, I shall never hear. The
women have now seen me, know how my gown is
made, and are satisfied ; the men are generally afraid
of me, and say little, because they think themselves
not at liberty to talk rudely.

" Thus I am condemned to solitude ; the day
moves slowly forward, and I see the dawn with
uneasiness, because I consider that night is at a
great distance. I have tried to sleep by a brook,
but find its murmurs meffectual ; so that I am forced
to be awake at least twelve hours, without visits,
without cards, without laughter, and without flattery.
I walk because 1 am disgusted with sitting still, and
sit down because I am weary with walking. 1 have
no motive to action, nor any object of love, or hate,
or fear, or inchnation. I caimot dress with sj)irit,
for I have neither rival nor admirer. I cannot
dance without a partner, nor be kind, nor cruel,
without a lover.

" Such is the life of Euphelia, and such it is likely
to continue for a month to come. I have not yet
declared agamst existence, nor called upon the
Destinies to cut my thread ; but I have sincerely

312 RAMBLER. NO. 43.

resolved not to condemn myself to such another
summer, nor too hastily to flatter myself with happi-
ness. Yet I have heard, Mr. Rambler, of those
who never thought themselves so much at ease as in
solitude, and cannot but suspect it to be some way
or other my own fault, that, without great pain,
either of mind or body, I am thus weary of myself:
that the current of youth stagnates, and that I am
languishing in a dead calm, for want of some ex-
ternal impulse. I shall therefore think you a bene-
factor to our sex, if you will teach me the art of
living alone ; for I am confident that a thousand and
a thousand and a thousand ladies, who affect to talk
with ecstasies of the pleasures of the country, are in
reality, like me, longing for the winter, and wishing
to be delivered from themselves by company and
diversion.

" I am, Sir, Yours,

'' EUPHELIA."

No. 43. TUESDAY, AUGUST 14, 1750.

Flumine perpetuo torrens solet acrius ire,

Sed tanien Jubc brevis est, ilia jperennis aqua. oviD.

In course impetuous soon the torrent dries ;
The brook a constant peaceful stream suppUes.

LEWIS.

It is observed by those Avho have written on the
constitution of the human body, and the original of
those diseases by which it is afflicted, that every

NO. 43. RAMBLER. 313

man comes into the world morbid, that there is no
temperature so exactly regulated but that some hu-
mour is fatally predominant, and that we are gen-
erally impregnated, in our first entrance upon life,
with the seeds of that malady, which, m time, shall
brino^ us to the grave.

This remark has been extended by others to the
intellectual faculties. Some, that imagine themselves
to have looked with more than common penetration
into human nature, have endeavoured to persuade
us that each man is born with a mind formed pe-
cuharly for certain purposes, and with desires unal-
terably determined to particular objects, from which
the attention camiot be long diverted, and which
alone, as they are well or ill pursued, must produce
the praise or blame, the happiness or misery, of his
future life.

This position has not, indeed, been hitherto proved
with strength proportionate to the assurance with
which it has been advanced, and, perhaps, will never
gain much j)revalence by a close examination.

If the doctrine of innate ideas be itself disputable,
there seems to be little hoj)e of establishing an opin-
ion, which supposes that even complications of ideas
have been given us at our birth, and that we are
made by nature ambitious or covetous, before we
know the meaning of either power or money.

Yet as every step in the progression of existence
changes our position with respect to the things about
us, so as to lay us open to new assaults and j^articu-
lar dangers, and subjects us to mconveniences from
which any other situation is exempt ; as a public or
a private life, youth and age, wealth and poverty,
have all some evil closely adherent, which cannot
wholly be escaped but by quitting the state to which
it is annexed, and submitting to the incumbrances

314 RAMBLER. NO. 43.

of some other condition : so it cannot be denied that
every difference in the structure of the mind has its
advantages and its wants ; and that failures and de-
fects being inseparable from humanity, however the
powers of understanding be extended or contracted,
there will on one side or the other always be an
avenue to error and miscarriage.

There seem to be some souls suited to great, and
others to little employments ; some formed to soar
aloft, and take in wide views, and others to grovel
on the ground, and confine then* regard to a narrow
sphere. Of these the one is always in danger of
becoming useless by a daring negligence, the other
by a scrupulous solicitude ; the one collects many
ideas, but confused and indistinct ; the other is
busied in minute accuracy, but without compass and
without dignitv.

The general error of those who possess powerful
and elevated understandings, is, that they form
schemes of too great extent, and flatter themselves
too hastily with success ; they feel their own force
to be great, and, by the complacency with which
every man surveys himself, imagine it still greater :
they, therefore, look out for undertakings worthy of
their abilities, and engage in them with very little
precaution ; for they imagine that, without premedi-
tated measures, they shall be able to find expedients
in all difficulties. They are naturally apt to con-
sider all prudential maxims as below their regard, to
treat with contempt those securities and resources
which others know themselves obliged to provide,
and disdain to accomplish their purposes by estab-
lished means, and common gradations.

Precipitation thus incited by the pride of intellec-
tual superiority, is very fatal to great designs. The
resolution of the combat is seldom equal to the vehe-

NO. 43. RAMBLER. 315

mence of the charge. He that meets with an oppo-
sition which he did not expect, loses his courage.
The violence of his first onset is succeeded by a last-
ing and unconquerable languor ; miscarriage makes
him fearful of giving way to new hopes : and the
contemplation of an attempt, in which he has fallen
below his own expectations, is painful and vexatious ;
he therefore naturally turns his attention to more
pleasing objects, and habituates his imagination to
other entertaiments, till, by slow degrees, he quits
his fii'st pursuit, and suffers some other project to
take possession of his thoughts, in which the same
ardour of mmd promises him again certain success,
and which disappointments of the same kind compel
him to abandon.

Thus too much vigour in the beginning of an un-
dertakmg, often intercepts and prevents the steadi-
ness and j)erseverance always necessary in the con-
duct of a complicated scheme, where many interests
are to be connected, many movements to be adjusted,
and the joint effort of distinct and independent
powers to be directed to a single point. In aU im-
portant events which have been suddenly brought
to pass, chance has been the agent rather than rea-
son ; and, therefore, however those, who seemed to
preside in the transaction, may have been celebrated
by such as loved or feared them, succeeding times
have commonly considered them as fortunate rather
than prudent. Every design in which the connec-
tion is regularly traced, from the first motion to the
last, must be formed and executed by cahn intrepid-
ity, and requires not only courage which danger
cannot turn aside, but constancy which fatigues can-
not weary, and contrivance which impediments can-
not exhaust.

AU the performances of human art, at which we
look with praise or wonder, are instances of the re-

316 RAMBLER. NO. 43.

sistless force of perseverance : it is by this that the
quarrj becomes a pyramid, and that distant coun-
tries are united with canals. If a man was to com-
pare the effect of a single stroke of the pickaxe, or
of one impression of the spade, with the general
design and last result, he would be overwhelmed by
the sense of their dis^^roportion ; yet those petty
operations, incessantly continued, in time surmount
the greatest difficulties, and mountains are levelled,
and oceans bounded, by the slender force of human
beings.

It is, therefore, of the utmost importance that
those who have any intention of deviating from the
beaten roads of life, and acquiring a reputation su-
perior to names hourly swept away by time among
the refuse of fame, should add to their reason, and
their spirit, the power of persisting in their pur-
poses ; acquire the art of sapping what they cannot
batter ; and the habit of vanquishing obstinate re-
sistance by obstinate attacks.

The student who would build his knowledge on
solid foundations, and proceed by just degrees to the
pmnacles of truth, is directed by the great philoso-
pher of France to begin by doubting of his own
existence. In like manner, whoever would com-
plete any arduous and intricate enterprise, should, as
soon as his imagination can cool afler the first blaze
of hope, place before his own eyes every possible
embarrassment that may retard or defeat him. He
should first question the probability of success, and
then endeavour to remove the objections that he has
raised. " It is proper," says old Markham, " to ex-
ercise your horse on the more inconvenient side of
the course, that if he should, in the race, be forced
upon it, he may not be discouraged : " and Horace
advises his poetical friend to consider every day as
the last which he shall enjoy, because that will al-

NO. 43. RAMBLER. 317

ways give pleasure wliicli we receive beyond our
hopes. If we alarm ourselves beforehand with more
difficulties than we really find, we shall be animated
by unexpected facility with double spirit ; and if we
fijid our cautions and fears justified by the conse-
quence, there will, however, happen nothing against
which pro^dsion has not been made, no sudden shock
will be received, nor will the main scheme be dis-
concerted.

There is, indeed, some danger lest he that too
scrupulously balances probabilities, and too perspi-
caciously foresees obstacles, should remain always
in a state of inaction, without venturing upon at-
temj)ts on which he may, perhaps, spend his labour
without advantage. But previous despondence is
not the fault of those for whom this essay is de-
signed ; they who require to be warned agamst pre-
cipitation, will not suffer more fear to intrude into
their contemplations than is necessary to allay the
effervescence of an agitated fancy. As Des Cartes
has kindly shown how a man may prove to himself
his own existence, if once he can be prevailed upon
to question it, so the ardent and adventm-ous will
not be long without findmg some plausible extenua-
tion of the greatest difficulties. Such, indeed, is the
uncertainty of all human affairs, that security and
despair are equal follies, and as it is presumption
and arrogance to anticipate triumphs, it is weakness
and cowardice to prognosticate miscarriages. The
numbers that have been stopped in their career of
happiness are sufficient to show the uncertainty of
human foresight ; but there are not wanting con-
trary instances of such success obtained against all
appearance, as may warrant the boldest flights of
genius, if they are supported by unshaken persever-
ance.

318 RAMBLER. NO. 44.

No. 44. SATURDAY, AUGUST 18, 1750.

'Ovap kK Aibg hari. homek.

— Dreams descend from Jove. pope.

" TO THE RAMBLER.

" SIR,

I HAD lately a very remarkable dream, which made
so strong an impression on me, that I remember it
every word ; and if you are not better employed,
you may read the relation of it as follows : —

" Methought I was in the midst of a very enter-
taining set of company, and extremely delighted in
attending to a lively conversation, when on a sudden
I perceived one of the most shocking figures ima-
gination can frame, advancing towards me. She
was dressed in black, her skin was contracted into a
thousand wrmkles, her eyes deep sunk in her head,
and her complexion pale and livid as the countenance
of death. Her looks were filled with terror and un-
relenting severity, and her hands armed with whips
and scorpions. As soon as she came near, with a
horrid frown, and a voice that chilled my very blood,
she bid me follow her. I obeyed, and she led me
through rugged paths, beset with briers and thorns,
into a deep solitary valley. Wherever she passed
the fadmg verdure withered beneath her steps ; her
pestilential breath infected the air with maHgnant
vapours, obscured the lustre of the sun, and involved
the fair face of heaven in universal gloom. Dismal

NO. 44. RAMBLER. 319

howlings resounded througli the forest, from every
baleful tree tlie night-raven uttered his dreadful
note, and the prospect was filled with desolation
and horror. In the midst of this tremendous scene,
my execrable guide addi-essed me in the following
manner : —

' Retire with me, O rash unthinking mortal, from
the vain allurements of a deceitful world, and learn
that pleasure was not designed the portion of human
life. Man was born to mourn and to be wretched ;
this is the condition of all below the stars, and who-
ever endeavours to oppose it, acts in contradiction
to the will of Heaven. Fly, then, from the fatal
enchantments of youth and social delight, and here
consecrate the solitary hours to lamentation and woe.
Misery is the duty of all sublunary beings, and
every enjoyment is an offence to the Deity, who is
to be worshipped only by the mortification of every
sense of pleasure, and the everlasting exercise of
sighs and tears.'

" This melancholy picture of life quite sunk my
spirits, and seemed to annihilate every j)rinciple of
joy within me. I threw myself beneath a blasted
yew, where the winds blew cold and dismal round
my head, and dreadful apprehensions chilled my
heart. Here I resolved to lie till the hand of death,
which I impatiently mvoked, should put an end to
the miseries of a life so deplorably wretched. In
this sad situation I espied on one hand of me a deep
muddy river, whose heavy waves rolled on in slow
sullen murmurs. Here I determined to plunge, and
was just upon the brink, when I found myself sud-
denly dra^vn back. I turned about, and was sur-
prised by the sight of the loveliest object I had ever
beheld. The most engaging charms of youth and
beauty appeared in all her form : effulgent glories

320 RAMBLER. NO. 44.

sparkled in her eyes, and tlieir awful splendours
were softened by the gentlest looks of compassion
and peace. At her approach the frightful sj)ectre,
who had before tormented me, vanished away, and
with her all the horrors she had caused. The
gloomy clouds brightened into cheerful sunshine, the
groves recovered their verdure, and the whole re-
gion looked gay and blooming as the garden of Eden.
I was quite transported at this unexpected change,
and reviving pleasure began to glad my thoughts,
when, with a look of inexpressible sweetness, my
beauteous deliverer thus uttered her divine instruc-
tions : —

' My name is Religion. I am the offspring of
Truth and Love, and the parent of Benevolence,
Hope, and Joy. That monster, from whose power
I have freed you, is called Superstition, she is the
child of Discontent, and her followers are Fear and
Sorrow. Thus different as we are, she has often
the insolence to assume my name and character, and
seduces unhappy mortals to think us the same, till
she, at length, drives them to the borders of Despair,
that dreadful abyss into which you were just going
to sink.

' Look round and survey the various beauties of
the globe, which Heaven has destined for the seat
of the human race, and consider whether a world
thus exquisitely framed could be meant for the
abode of misery and pain. For what end has the
lavish hand of Providence diffused such innumer-
able objects of delight, but that all might rejoice in
the privilege of existence, and be filled with grati-
tude to the beneficent Author of it ? Thus to enjoy
the blessings He has sent, is virtue and obedience ;
and to reject them merely as means of pleasure, is
pitiable ignorance, or absurd perverseness. Infinite

NO. 44. RAMBLER. 321

goodness is the source of created existence ; the
proper tendency of everj rational being, from the
highest order of raptured seraphs, to the meanest
rank of men, is to rise incessantly from lower de-
grees of happiness to higher. They have each fac-
ulties assigned them for various orders of delights.'

' What,' cried I, ' is this the language of Rehgion ?
Does she lead her votaries through flowery paths,
and bid them pass an unlaborious life ? Where are
the painful toils of virtue, the mortifications of pen-
itents, the self-denying exercises of saints and he-
roes ? '

' The true enjoyments of a reasonable being,' an-
swered she, mildly, ' do not consist in unbounded in-
dulgence, or luxurious ease, in the tumult of pas-
sions, the languor of indolence, or the flutter of light
amusements. Yielding to unmoral pleasure cor-
rupts the mind, living to animal and trifling ones
debases it ; both in their degree disqualify it for its
genuine good, and consign it over to wretchedness.
Whoever would be really happy must make the
dihgent and regular exercise of his superior powers
his chief attention, adoring the perfections of his
Maker, expressing good-will to his fellow-creatures,
cultivating inward rectitude. To his lower faculties
he must allow such gratifications as will, by refresh-
ing him, invigorate his nobler pursuits. In the re-
gions inhabited by angelic natures, unmiugied felic-
ity forever blooms, joy flows there with a jjerpetual
and abundant stream, nor needs there any mound to
check its course. Beings conscious of a frame of
mind originally diseased, as all the human race has
cause to be, must use the regimen of a stricter self-
government. Whoever has been guilty of voluntary
excesses, must patiently submit both to the painful
workings of nature and needful severities of medi-

VOL. XVI. 21

•

322 RAMBLER. NO. 44.

cine, in order to his cure. Still, he is entitled to a
moderate share of whatever alleviating accommoda-
tions this fair mansion of his merciful Parent af-
fords, consistent with his recovery. And in propor-
tion as this recovery advances, the liveliest joy Avill
spring from his secret sense of an amended and im-
proving heart. — So far from the horrors of despair
is the condition even of the guilty. — Shudder, poor
mortal, at the thought of the gulf into which thou
wast but now going to i^lunge.

' While the most faulty have every encourage-
ment to amend, the more innocent soul will be sup-
ported with still sweeter consolations under all its
experience of human infirmities ; supported by the
gladdening assurances that every sincere endeavour
to outgrow them, shall be assisted, accepted, and re-
warded. To such a one the lowliest self-abasement
is but a deep-laid foundation for the most elevated
hopes ; since they who faithfully examine and ac-
knowledge Avhat they are, shall be enabled under
my conduct to become what they desire. The Chris-
tian and the hero are inseparable ; and to the aspir-
ings of unassuming trust, and filial confidence, are
set no bounds. To him who is animated with a
\dew of obtaining approbation from the Sovereign
of the universe, no difficulty is insurmountable.
Secure in this pursuit of every needful aid, his con-
flict with the severest pains and trials, is little more
than the vigorous exercises of a mind in health.
His patient dependence on that Providence which
looks through all eternity, his silent resignation, his
ready accommodation of his thoughts and behaviour
to its inscrutable ways, is at once the most excellent
sort of self-denial, and a source of the most exalted
transports. Society is the true sphere of human
virtue. In social, active life, difiiculties will perpet-

NO. 44. RAMBLER. . 323

ually be met with ; restraints of many kinds will
be necessary ; and studying to behave right in re-
spect of these, is a discipline of the human heart,
useful to others, and improving to itself. Suffering
is no duty, but where it is necessary to avoid guilt,
or to do good ; nor pleasure a crime, but where it
strengthens the influence of bad incHuations, or les-
sens the generous activity of vii'tue. The happiness
allotted to man in his present state, is indeed faint
and low, compared with his immortal prospects, and
noble capacities ; but yet, whatever portion of it the
distributing hand of Heaven offers to each individ-
ual, is a needful support and refreshment for the
present moment, so far as it may not hmder the at-
taining of his final destination,

' Return, then, with me from continual misery to
moderate enjoyment, and grateful alacrity. Return
from the contracted views of solitude to the proper
duties of a relative and dependent being. Religion
is not confined to cells and closets, nor restrained to
sullen retirement. These are the gloomy doctrines
of Superstition, by which she endeavours to break
those chains of benevolence and social affection, that
link the welfare of every particular with that of the
whole. Remember that the greatest honour you
can pay to the Author of your being is by such a
cheerful behaviour, as discovers a mind satisfied with
his dispensations.'

" Here my preceptress paused, and I was going
to express my acknowledgment for her discourse,
when a ring; of beUs from the neio-hbourino- village,
and a new-risen sun darting his beams through my
windows, awaked me.

" I am, yours," &c.

324 RAMBLER. NO. 45.

No. 45. TUESDAY, AUGUST 21, 1750.

liTrep ixsyiarrj yiyveTat auTr/pla

"Orav yvvT] -npog uvdpa fif] diXoaraTy,

'^vv 6' cK^pa TTcivTa. — EURIP.

This is the chief fehcity of life,

That concord smile on the connubial bed ;

But now 't is hatred all. —

" TO THE RAMBLER.

" SIR,

" Though, in tlie dissertations which you have
given us on marriage, very just cautions are laid
down against the common causes of infelicity, and
the necessity of having, in that important choice,
the first regard to virtue, is carefully inculcated ;
yet I cannot think the subject so much exhausted,
but that a Httle reflection would present to the mind
many questions, in the discussion of which great
numbers are interested, and many precepts which
deserve to be more particularly and forcibly im-
pressed.

" You seem, like most of the writers that have
gone before you, to have allowed, as an uncontested
principle, that ' Marriage is generally unhappy : '
but I know not whether a man who professes to
think for himself and concludes from his own ob-
servations, does not depart from his character when
he follows the crowd thus implicitly, and receives
maxims without recalling them to a new examina-
tion, especially when they comprise so wide a cir-

NO. 45. RAMBLER. 325

cuit of life, and include such variety of circum-
stances. As I have an equal right with others to
give my opinion of the objects about me, and a bet-
ter title to determine concerning that state which I
have tried, than many who talk of it without ex-
perience, I am unwilling to be restrained by mere
authority from advancing what, I believe, an ac-
curate view of the world will confirm, that marriage
is not commonly unhappy, otherwise than as life is
unhappy ; and that most of those who complain of
connubial miseries, have as much satisfaction as
their nature would have admitted, or their conduct
procured, in any other condition.

" It is, indeed, common to hear both sexes repine
at their change, relate the happiness of their earher
years, blame the folly and rashness of then* own
choice, and warn those whom they see coming mto
the world against the same j)recipitance and in-
fatuation. But it is to be remembered, that the
days which they so much wish to call back, are the
days not only of cehbacy but of youth, the days of
novelty and improvement, of ardour and of hope,
of health and vigour of body, of gayety and light-
ness of heart. It is not easy to surround life with
any circumstances in which youth will not be de-
lightful ; and I am afraid that, whether married or
unmarried, we shall find the vesture of terrestrial
existence more heavy and cumbrous the longer it is
worn.

"• That they censure themselves for the indiscre-
tion of their choice, is not a sufficient proof that
they have chosen ill, since we see the same discon-
tent at every other part of life which we cannot
change. Converse with almost any man, grown old
in a profession, and you will find him regretting that
he did not enter mto some different course, to which

326 RAMBLER. NO. 46.

he too late finds his genius better adapted, or in
which he discovers that weaUh and honour are more
easily attained. ' The merchant,' says Horace, ' en-
vies the soldier, and the soldier recounts the felicity
of the merchant ; the lawyer, when his clients harass
him, calls out for the quiet of the countryman ; and
the countryman, when business, palls him to town,
proclaims that there is no happiness but amidst
opulence and crowds.' Every man recounts the in-
conveniences of his own station, and thinks those of
any other less, because he has not felt them. Thus
the married praise the ease and freedom of a single
state, and the single fly to marriage from the weari-
ness of solitude. From all our observations, we may
collect with certainty, that misery is the lot of man,
but cannot discover in what particular condition it
will find most alleviations ; or whether all external
appendages are not, as we use them, the causes either
of good or ill.

" Whoever feels great pain, naturally hopes for
ease from change of posture ; he changes it and
finds himself equally tormented : and of the same
kind are the expedients by which we endeavour to
obviate or elude those uneasinesses, to which mortal-
ity will always be subject. It is not likely that the
married state is eminently miserable, since we see
such numbers, whom the death of their partners has
set free from it, entering it again.

" Wives and husbands are, indeed, incessantly
complaining of each other ; and there would be rea-
son for imagining that almost every house was in-
fested with perverseness or oppression beyond hu-
man sufferance, did we not know upon how small
occasions some minds burst out into lamentations
and reproaches, and how naturally every animal
revenges his pain upon those who happen to be near,

NO. 45. RAMBLER. 327

without any nice examination of its cause. We are
always willing to fancy ourselves within a little of
happiness, and when, wdth repeated efforts, we can-
not reach it, persuade ourselves that it is inter-
cepted by an ill-paired mate, since, if we could find
any other obstacle, it would be our own fault that
it was not removed.

" Anatomists have often remarked, that though
our diseases are sufficiently numerous and severe,
yet, when we inquire into the structure of the body,
the tenderness of some parts, the minuteness of
others, and the immense multiplicity of animal func-
tions that must concur to the healthful and vigorous
exercise of all our powers, there appears reason to
wonder rather that we are preserved so long, than
that we perish so soon ; and that our frame subsists
for a single day, or hour, without disorder, rather
than that it should be broken or obstructed by vio-
lence of accidents, or length of time.

" The same reflection arises in my mind, upon ob-
servation of the manner in which marriage is fre-
quently contracted. AVhen I see the avaricious and
crafty taking companions to their tables, and their
beds, without any inquiry, but after farms and money ;
or the giddy and thoughtless uniting themselves for
hfe to those whom they have only seen by the light
of tapters at a ball ; when parents make articles for
their children, without inquiring after their consent ;
when some marry for heirs to disappoint then- broth-
ers, and others throw themselves into the arms of
those whom they do not love, because they found
themselves rejected where they were more solicitous
to please ; when some marry because their servants
cheat them, some because they squander their own
money, some because their houses are pestered with
company, some because they will Uve like other

328 RAMBLER. NO. 45.

people, and some only because they are sick of them-
selves ; I am not so much inclined to wonder that
marriage is sometimes unhappy, as that it appears
so little loaded with calamity ; and cannot but con-
clude that society has something in itself eminently
agreeable to human nature, when I find its pleasures
so great, that even the ill choice of a companion can
hardly overbalance them.

" By the ancient custom of the Muscovites, the
men and women never saw each other till they were
joined beyond the power of parting. It may be
suspected that by this method many unsuitable
matches were produced, and many tempers associated
that were not qualified to give pleasure to each
other. Yet, perhaps, among a people so little deli-
cate, where the paucity of gratifications, and the
uniformity of life, gave no opportunity for imagina-
tion to interpose its objections, there was not much
danger of capricious dislike, and while they felt
neither cold nor hunger, they might live quietly
together, without any thought of the defects of one
another.

" Amongst us, whom knowledge has made nice,
and affluence wanton, there are, indeed, more cau-
tions requisite to secure tranquillity ; and yet, if we
observe the manner in which those converse, who
have singled out each other for marriage, w'e shall,
perhaps, not think that the Russians lost much by
their restraint. For the whole endeavour of both
parties, during the time of courtshijD, is to hinder
themselves from being known, and to disguise their
natural temper, and real desires, in hypocritical
imitation, studied compliance, and continued affecta-
tion. From the time that their love is avowed,
neither sees the other but in a mask, and the cheat
is managed often on both sides with so much art, and

NO. 46. RAMBLER. 329

discovered afterwards with so mucli abruptness, that
each has reason to suspect that some transformation
has happened on the wedding-night, and that, bj a
strange imposture, one has been courted and another
married.

" I desire you, therefore, Mr. Rambler, to question
all who shall hereafter come to you with matrimo-
nial complaints, concerning their behaviour in the
time of courtship, and mform them that they are
neither to wonder nor repine, when a contract be-
gun with fraud has ended in disappointment.

" I am," (fee.

No. 46. SATUEDAY, AUGUST 25, 1750.

— Genus, etproavos, et quae non fecinms ipsi,
Vix ea nostra voco. — oyid. met. xiii. 140.

Nought from my birth or ancestors I claim;
All is my own, my honour and my shame.

((

TO THE RAMBLER.

" SIE,

" Since I find that you have paid so much regard
to my complaints as to publish them, I am inclined
by vanity, or gratitude, to continue our correspond-
ence ; and indeed, without either of these motives,
am glad of an opportunity to write, for I am not
accustomed to keep in any thmg that swells my

330 RAMBLER. NO. 46.

heart, and have here none with whom I can freely
converse. While I am thus employed, some tedious
hours will slip away, and when I return to watch the
clock, I shall find that I have disburdened myself
of part of the day.

" You perceive that I do not pretend to write with
much consideration of any thing but my own con-
venience ; and, not to conceal from you my real
sentiments, the Httle time which I have spent,
against my will, in solitary meditation, has not much
contributed to my veneration for authors. I have
now sufficient reason to suspect that, with all your
splendid professions of wisdom, and seeming regard
for truth, you have very little sincerity ; that you
either write what you do not think, and willingly
impose upon mankind, or that you take no care to
think right, but while you set up yourselves as
guides, mislead your followers by credulity or negli-
gence ; that you produce to the public whatever
notions you can speciously maintain, or elegantly
express, without inquiring whether they are just;
and transcribe hereditary falsehoods from old au-
thors perhaps as ignorant and careless as your-
selves.

" You may perhaps wonder that I express myself
with so much acrimony on a question in which
women are supposed to have vary Httle interest ;
and you are likely enough, for I have seen many
instances of the sauciness of scholars, to tell me, that
I am more properly employed in playing with my
kittens, than in giving myself airs of criticism, and
censuring the learned. But you are mistaken, if
you imagine that I am to be intimidated by your
contempt, or silenced by your reproofs. As I read,
I have a right to judge ; as I am injured, I have a
right to complain ; and these privileges^ which I have

NO. 46. KAMBLER. 331

purchased at so dear a rate, I shall not easily be
persuaded to resign.

" To read has, indeed, never been my business ;
but as there are hours of leisure in the most active
hfe, I have passed the superfluities of time, which
the diversions of the town left upon my hands, in
turning over a large collection of tragedies and
romances, where, amongst other sentiments, com-
mon to all authors of this class, I have found almost
every page filled with the charms* and happiness of
a country life ; that life to which every statesmen in
the highest elevation of his prosperity is contriving
to retire ; that life to which every tragic heroine, in
some scene or other, wishes to have been born, and
which is rejDresented as a certain refuge from foUy,
from anxiety, from passion, and from guilt.

" It was impossible to read so many passionate
exclamations, and soothing descriptions, without feel-
ing some desire to enjoy the state in which all this
felicity was to be enjoyed ; and, therefore, I received
with raptures the invitation of my good aunt, and
expected that, by some unknown influence, I should
find all hopes and fears, jealousies and competitions,
vanish from my heart upon my first arrival at the
seats of innocence and tranquillity; that I should
sleep in halcyon bowers, and wander in elysian
gardens, where I should meet with nothing but the
softness of benevolence, the candour of simplicity,
and the cheerfulness of content ; where I should see
reason exerting her sovereignty over life, without
any interruption from envy, avarice, or ambition,
and every day passing in such a manner as the
severest wisdom should approve.

'' This, Mr. Rambler, I tell you I expected, and
this I had by a hundred authors been taught to ex-

332 RAMBLER. NO. 46.

pect. Bj tliis expectation I was led hither, and
here I live in perpetual uneasiness, without any
other comfort than that of hoping to return to
London.

Having, since I wrote my former letter, been
driven, by the mere necessity of escaj^ing from abso-
lute inactivity, to make myself more acquainted with
the affairs and inhabitants of this place, I am now
no longer an absolute stranger to rural conversation
and employments,' but am far from discovering in
them more innocence or wisdom, than in the senti-
ments or conduct of those with whom I have passed
more cheerful and more fashionable hours.

" It is common to reproach the tea-table, and the
park, with giving opportunities and encouragement
to scandal. I cannot wholly clear them from the
charge ; but must, however, observe, in favour of the
modish prattlers, that, if not by principle, we are at
least by accident, less guilty of defamation than the
country ladies. For having greater numbers to
observe and censure, we are commonly content to
charge them only with their own faults or follies,
and seldom give way to malevolence, but such as
arises from some injury or affront, real or imaginary,
offered to ourselves. But in these distant provinces,
where the same families inhabit the same houses
from age to age, they transmit and recount the faults
of a whole succession. I have been informed how
every estate in the neighbourhood was originally
got : and find, if I may crefdit the accounts given me,
that there is not a single acre in the hands of the
right owner. I have been told of intrigues between,
beaux, and toasts that have been now three centuries
in their quiet graves, and am often entertained with
traditional scandal on persons of whose names there

NO. 46. EAMBLEE. 333

would have been no remembrance, had they not
committed somewhat that mio;ht disgrace their de-
scendants.

" In one of my visits, I happened to commend the
air and dignity of a yonug hidy, who had just left
the company ; upon which two grave matrons looked
with great slyness at each other, and the elder asked
me whether I had ever seen the picture of Henry
the Eighth. You may imagme that I did not imme-
diately perceive the propriety of the question ; but
after havino- waited a while for information, I was
told that the lady's grandmother had a great-great-
grandmother that was an attendant on Anna Bullen,
and supposed to have been too much a favourite of
the king.

" If once there happens a quarrel between the
principal persons of two famihes, the malignity is
continued without end, and it is common for old
maids to fell out about some election, in which their
grandfathers were competitors ; the heart-burnings
of the civil war are not yet extinguished ; there are
two families in the neighbourhood who have de-
stroyed each other's game from the time of Philip
and Mary ; and when an account came of an inunda-
tion, which had injured the plantations of a worthy
gentleman, one of the hearers remarked, with exulta-
tion, that he might now have some notion of the
ravages committed by his ancestors in their retreat
from Bosworth.

" Thus malice and hatred descend here with an
inheritance, and it is necessaiy to be well-versed in
history, that the various factions of this county may
be understood. You cannot expect to be on good
terms with families who are resolved to love nothing
in common ; and, in selecting your intimates, you

334 RAMBLER. NO. 46.

are, perhaps, to consider which party jou must favour
in the barons' wars. I have often lost the good
opinion of mj aunt's visitants, by confounding the
interests of York and Lancaster, and was once cen-
sured for sitting silent when William Rufus was
called a tyrant. I have, however, now thrown aside
all pretences to circumspection, for I find it impos-
sible in less than seven years to learn all the requisite
cautions. At London, if you know your company,
and their parents, you are safe ; but you are here
suspected of alluding to the slips of great-grand-
mothers, and of reviving contests which were decided
in armour by the redoubted knights of ancient times.
I hope, therefore, that you will not condemn my
impatience, if I am weary of attending where noth-
ing can be learned, and of quarrelling, where there
is nothing to contest, and that you will contribute
to divert me while I stay here by some facetious
performance.

" I am, Sir,

' "EUPHELIA."

NO. 47. RAMBLER. 335

No. 47. TUESDAY, AUGUST 28, 1750.

Quanquam Ins sokdiis acquiescam, debiUtor et frangor eadem ilia
humaniiate quae me, ut hoc ipsum permitte7'e7n, induxit. Non
ideo tamen velim durior fieri : nee ignoro alios hujusmodi casus
nihil ampUiis vocare quam damnum ; eoque sibi magnos homines
et sapientes videri. Qui an vnagni sapieniesoue sint, nescio ;
homines non sunt. Hominis est enim ajfici dotore, sentire; re-
sistere tamen, et solatia admittere; non solaiiis non egere.

PLIN.

These proceedings have afforded me some comfort in my dis-
tress; notwithstanding which, I am still dispimted, and un-
hinged by the same motives of hiimanity tliat induced me to
grant such indulgences. Howevei', I by no means wish to be
come less susceptible of tenderness. I know these kind of
misfortunes would be estimated by other persons only as com-
mon losses, and from such sensations they would conceive
themselves great and wise men. I shall not determine either
their greatness or their wisdom; but I am certain they have
no humanity. It is the part of a man to be affected with
grief; to feel sorrow, at the same time that he is to resist it,
and to admit of comfort. earl of orrery.

Of the passions with which the mind of man is
agitated, it may be observed that they naturally
hasten towards their own extinction, by inciting and
quickening the attainment of their objects. Thus
fear urges our flight, and desire animates our pro-
gress ; and if there are some which, perhaps, may
be indulged till they outgrow the good appropriated
to their satisfaction, as it is frequently observed of
avarice and ambition, yet their immediate tendency
is to some means of happiness really existing, and
generally within the prospect. The miser always
imagines that there is a certain sum that will fill

336 RAMBLER. NO. 47.

his heart to the brim ; and every ambitious man,
like king Pyrrhus, has an acquisition in his thoughts
that is to terminate his labours, after which he shall
pass the rest of his life in ease or gayety, in repose
or devotion.

Sorrow is, perhaps, the only affection of the breast
that can be excepted from this general remark, and
it therefore deserves the particular attention of those
who have assumed the arduous province of preserv-
ing the balance of the mental constitution. The
other passions are diseases, indeed, but they neces-
sarily direct us to their proper cure. A man at
once feels the pain, and knows the medicine, to
wdiich he is carried with greater haste as the evil
which requires it is more excruciating, and cures
himself by unerring instinct, as the wounded stags
of Crete are related by ^lian to have recourse to
vulnerary herbs. But for sorrow there is no remedy
provided by nature ; it is often occasioned by acci-
dents irreparable, and dwells upon objects that have
lost or changed their existence ; it requires what it
cannot hope, that the laws of the universe should
be repealed ; that the dead should return, or the
past should be recalled.

Sorrow is not that regret for negligence or error
which may animate us to future care or activity, or
that repentance of crimes for which, however irrevo-
cable, our Creator, has promised to accept it as an
atonement; the pain which arises from these causes
has very salutary effects, and is every hour extenuat-
ing itself by the reparation of those miscarriages
that produce it. Sorrow is properly that state of
the mind in which our desires are fixed upon the
past, without looking forward to the future ; an inces-
sant wish that something were otherwise than it has
been ; a tormenting and harassing want of some en-

NO. 47. RAMBLER. 337

joyment or possession which we have lost, and which
no endeavours can possibly regain. Into such anguish
many have sunk upon some sudden diminution of
their fortune, an unexpected blast of their reputa-
tion, or the loss of children, or of friends. They
have suffered all sensibility of pleasure to be de-
stroyed by a single blow, have given up forever the
hopes of substituting any other object in the room
of that which they lament, resigned their lives to
gloom and despondency, and worn themselves out
in unavailing misery.

Yet so much is this passion the natural conse-
quence of tenderness and endearment, that, however
painful and however useless, it is justly reproachful
not to feel it on some occasions ; and so widely and
constantly has it always prevailed, that the laws of
some nations, and the customs of others, have limited
a time for the external appearances of grief caused
by the dissolution of close alliances, and the breach
of domestic union.

It seems determined, by the general suffrage of
mankind, that sorrow is to a certain point laudable,
as the offspring of love, or at least pardonable as
the effect of weakness ; but that it ought not to be
suffered to increase by indulgence, but must give
way, after a stated time, to social duties, and the
common avocations of life. It is at first unavoid-
able, and therefore must be allowed, whether with
or without our choice ; it may afterwards be ad-
mitted as a decent and affectionate testimony of
-kindness and esteem ; something will be extorted
by nature, and something may be given to the world.
But all beyond the bursts of passion, or the forms
of solemnity, is not only useless, but culpable ; for
we have no right to sacrifice, to the vain longings

VOL. XVI. 22

338 RAMBLER. NO. 47.

of affection, that time which Providence allows us
for the task of our station.

Yet it too often happens that sorrow, thus law-
fully entering, gains such a firm possession of the
mind, that it is not afterwards to be ejected ; the
mournful ideas, first violently impressed, and after-
wards willingly received, so much engross the atten-
tion, as to predominate in every thought, to darken
gayety, and perplex ratiocination. An habitual
sadness seizes upon the soul, and the faculties are
chained to a single object, which can never be con-
templated but with hopeless uneasiness.

From this state of dejection it is very difiicult to
rise to cheerfulness and alacrity ; and, therefore,
many who have laid down rules of intellectual health,
think preservatives easier tlian remedies, and teach
us not to trust ourselves with favourite enjoyments,
not to indulge the luxury of fondness, but to keep
our minds always suspended in such indifference,
that we may change the objects about us without
emotion.

An exact compliance with this rule might, per-
haps, contribute to tranquillity, but surely it would
never produce haj)piness. He that regards none
so much as to be afraid of losing them, must live for-
ever without the gentle pleasures of sympathy and
confidence ; he must feel no melting fondness, no
warmth of benevolence, nor any of those honest
joys which nature annexes to the power of pleasing.
And as no man can justly claim more tenderness
than he pays, he must forfeit his share in that offi-
cious and watchful kindness which love only can
dictate, and those lenient endearments by which love
only can soften life. He may justly be overlooked
and neglected by such as have more warmth in their
heart ; for who would be the friend of him, whom,

NO. 47. EAMBLER. 339

with whatever assiduity he may be courted, and
with whatever services obliged, his principles will
not suffer to make equal returns, and who, when
you have exhausted all the instances of good-will,
can only be prevailed on not to be an enemy ?

An attempt to preserve life in a state of neutrality
and indifiference, is unreasonable and vain. If by
excluding joy we could shut out grief, the scheme
would deserve very serious attention ; but since, how-
ever we may debar ourselves from happiness, misery
will find its way at many inlets, and the assaults of
pain will force our regard, though we may withhold
it from the invitations of pleasure, we may surely
endeavour to raise life above the middle point of
apathy at one time, since it will necessarily sink
below it at another.

But though it cannot be reasonable not to gain
happiness for fear of losing it, yet it must be con-
fessed, that in proportion to the pleasure of posses-
sion, will be for some time our sorrow for the loss ;
it is therefore the province of the moralist to inquire
whether such pains may not quickly give way to
mitigation. Some have thought that the most cer-
tain way to clear the heart from its embarrassment,
is to drag it by force into scenes of merriment.
Others imagme, that such a transition is too violent,
and recommend rather to soothe it into tranquillity,
by making it acquainted with miseries more dread-
ful and afflictive, and diverting to the calamities of
others the regard which we are inclined to fix too
closely upon our own misfortunes.

It may be doubted whether either of those reme-
dies will be sufficiently powerful. The efficacy of
mirth it is not always easy to try, and the indulgence
of melancholy may be suspected to be one of those
medicines which will destroy, if it happens not to
cure.

340 RAMBLER. NO. 47.

The safe aud general antidote against sorrow, is
employment. It is commonly observed, that among
soldiers and seamen, though there is much kindness,
there is little grief; they see their friend fall without
any of that lamentation which is indulged in security
aud idleness, because they have no leisure to spare
from the care of themselves ; and whoever shall
keep his thoughts equally busy, will find himself
equally unaffected with irretrievable losses.

Time is observed generally to wear out sorrow,
and its effects might doubtless be accelerated by
quickening the succession, and enlarging the variety
of objects.

— Si tempore longo
Lenin 2)0terit lucttis, tu sperne morari,
Qui sapiet sibi tempus erit. — grotius.

'Tis long ere time can mitigate your gi'ief;

To wisdom fly, she quickly brings relief. F. lewis.

Sorrow is a kind of rust of the soul, which every
new idea contributes in its passage to scour away.
It is the putrefaction of stagnant life, and is remedied
by exercise and motion.

NO. 48. RAMBLER. 341

No. 48. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1750.

Non est vivere, sed valere, vita.

MART. EPIG. Vi. 70. 15.

For life is not to live, but to be well. elphlnston.

Among tlie innumerable follies by which we lay
up in our youth repentance and remorse for the suc-
ceeding part of our lives, there is scarce any against
which warnings are of less efficacy, than the neglect
of health. When the springs of motion are yet
elastic, when the heart bounds with vigour, and the
eye sparkles with spirit, it is with difficulty that we
are taught to conceive the imbecility that every hour
is bringing upon us, or to imagine that the nerves
which are now braced with so much strength, and
the limbs which play with so much activity, will lose
all their power under the gripe of time, relax with
numbness, and totter with debility.

To the arguments which have been used against
complaints under the miseries of life, the philoso-
phers have, I think, forgot to add the incredulity of
those to whom we recount our sufferings. But if
the purpose of lamentation be to excite pity, it is
surely superfluous for age and weakness to tell their
plaintive stories ; for pity presupposes sympathy,
and a little attention will show them, that those who
do not feel pain, seldom think that it is felt ; and a
short recollection will inform almost every man, that
he is only repaid the insult which he has given,
since he may remember how often he has mocked

342 RAMBLER. NO. 48.

infirmity, laughed at its cautions, and censured its
impatience.

The valetudinarian race have made the care of
health ridiculous by suffering it to prevail over all
other considerations, as the miser has brought fru-
gality into contempt, by permitting the love of money
not to share, but to engross his mind : they both err
alike, by confounding the means Avith the end ; they
grasp at health only to be well, as at money only
to be rich, and forget that every terrestrial advan-
tage is chiefly valuable, as it furnishes abihties for
the exercise of virtue.

Health is, indeed, so necessary to all the duties,
as well as pleasures of life, that the crime of squan-
dering it is equal to the folly ; and he that for a short
gratification brings weakness and diseases upon him-
self, and for the pleasure of a few years passed in
the tumults of diversions and clamours of merriment,
condemns the maturer and more experienced part of
his life to the chamber and the couch, may be justly
reproached, not only as a spendthrift of his own
happiness, but as a robber of the public ; as a
wretch that has voluntarily disqualified himself for
the business of his station, and refused that part
which Providence assigns him in the general task
of human nature.

There are, perhaps, very few conditions more to
be pitied than that of an active and elevated mind,
labouring under the weight of a distempered body.
The time of such a man is always spent in forming
schemes, which a change of wind hinders him from
executing ; his powers fume away in projects and in
hope, and the day of action never arrives. , He lies
down delighted with the thoughts of to-morrow,
pleases his ambition with the fame he shall acquire,
or his benevolence with the . good he shall confer.

NO. 48. RAMBLER. 343

But in the niglit the skies are overcast, the temper
of the air is changed, he wakes in languor, impa-
tience, and distraction, and has no longer any wish
but for ease, nor any attention but to misery. It
may be said that disease generally begins that equal-
ity which death completes ; the distinctions which
set one man so much above another are very little
perceived in the gloom of a sick chamber, where it
will be vain to expect entertainment from the gay,
or instruction from the wise ; where all human glory
is obliterated, the wit is clouded, the reasoner per-
plexed, and the hero subdued ; where the highest
and brightest of mortal beings finds nothing left him
but the consciousness of innocence.

There is among the fragments of the Greek poets
a short hymn to Health, in which her power of ex-
alting the happiness of life, of heightening the gifts
of fortune, and adding enjoyment to possession, is
inculcated with so much force and beauty, that no
one, who has ever languished under, the discomforts
and infirmities of a lingering disease, can read it
without feeling the images dance in his heart, and
adding, from his own experience, new vigour to the
wish, and, from his own imagination, new colours to
the picture. The particular occasion of this little
composition is not known, but it is probable that the
author had been sick, and in the first raptures of
returning vigour addressed Health in the following
manner : —

'Tyteta TrpeafSLGTa Ma/capwv,
Mera aov vaiotiii

To Ti^etTTOfievov (Siordg •
S?) 6e fioi 7vpo^pC)v avvoiKog elyc.
Ei yap Tig 7} tzXovtov ^'tipif, f/ tekeuv,

Tug Evdalfiovog, t' av^punoig
BaaiTiTjidog apxag, v irodov,
Ovg Kpv(l>coLg ' k.(ppo6iTrig apKvaiv '&7]p£vo{j,ev.

344 . RAMBLER. NO. 48.

"H el rig a21a Td-eo^ev uvd-po)iroig repipig,

"H TTOvov a/iTTVoa ireipavTaL •
Merd aslo /laKapia 'Tyieia,
Te^yls Tzavra, Koi TiUfiTvet ;(;apirwv sap •

^td-ev 6e X'^P^^^ ovdelg Ivdal/iuv TreXei.

* Health, most venerable of the powers of Heaven !
with thee may the remaining part of my life be passed,
nor do thou refuse to bless me with thy residence.
For whatever there is of beauty or of pleasure in
wealth, in descendants, or in sovereign command,
the highest summit of human enjoyment, or in those
objects of desh'e which we endeavour to chase into
the toils of love ; whatever delight, or whatever
solace is granted by the celestials to soften our fa-
tigues ; in thy presence, thou parent of happiness, all
those jays spread out and flourish ; in thy presence
blooms the spring of pleasure, and without thee no
man is hajjpy.'

Such is the power of health, that without its
cooperation every other comfort is torpid and life-
less, as the powers of vegetation without the sun.
And yet this bliss is commonly thrown away in
thoughtless negligence, or in foolish experiments on
our own strength ; we let it perish without remem-
bering its value, or waste it to show how much we
have to spare ; it is sometimes given up to the
management of levity and chance, and sometimes
sold for the applause of jollity and debauchery.

Health is equally neglected, and with equal im-
propriety, by the votaries of business and the fol-
lowers of pleasure. Some men ruin the fabric of
their bodies by incessant revels, and others by
intemperate studies ; some batter it by excess, and
others sap it by inactivity. To the noisy rout of
bacchanalian rioters, it will be to little purpose that

NO. 48. RAMBLER. 345

advice is oflPered, though it requires no great abili-
ties to prove, that he loses pleasure who loses
health ; their clamours are too loud for the whispers
of caution, and tliej run the course of life with too
much precipitance to stop at the call of wisdom.
Nor, perhaps, will they that are busied in adding
thousands to thousands, pay much regard to him
that shall direct them to hasten more slowly to their
wishes. Yet since lovers of money are generally
cool, deliberate, and thoughtful, they might surely
consider, that the greater good ought not to be sacri-
ficed to the less. Health is certainly more valuable
than money, because it is by health that money is
procured ; but thousands and million*s are of small
avail to alleviate the protracted torturers of the gout,
to repair the broken organs of sense, or resuscitate
the powers of disgestion. Poverty is, indeed, an
evil from which we naturally fly ; but let us not run
from one enemy to another, nor take shelter in the
arms of sickness.

— Projecere animam ; quam vellent cBtliere in alto
Nunc et paujyeriem^ et duros iolerare labores.!

For healthful indigence in vain they pray,

In quest of wealth who throw theh lives away.

Those who lose their health in an irregular and
impetuous pursuit of literary accomplishments, are
yet less to be excused ; for they ought to know that
the body is not forced beyond its strength, but with
the loss of more vigour than is proportionate to the
effect produced. Whoever takes up life beforehand,
by depriving himself of rest and refreshment, must
not only pay back the hours, but pay them back
with usury , and for the- gain of a few months but
half enjoyed, must give up years to the listlessness
of languor, and the implacability of pain. They

346 RAMBLER. NO. 49.

whose endeavour is mental excellence, will learn,
perhaps, too late, how much it is endangered by
diseases of the body, and find that knowledge may
easily be lost in the starts of melancholy, the flights
of impatience, and the peevishness of decrepitude.

No. 49. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1750.

Non omnis moriar ; muUaque pars mei

Vitabii Libitinam. Usque egopostera

Orescam laude recens. — hor. car. iii. 30. 6.

Whole Horace shall not die ; his songs shall save

The greatest portion from the greedy grave, creeoh.

The first motives of human actions are those ap-
petites which Providence has given to man in com-
mon with the rest of the inhabitants of the earth.
Immediately after our birth, thirst and hunger in-
cline us to the breast, which we draw by instinct
like other young creatures, and when we are satis-
fied, we express our uneasiness by importunate and
incessant cries, till we have obtained a place or
posture proper for repose.

The next call that rouses us from a state of inac-
tivity, is that of our passions : we quickly begin to be
sensible of hope and fear, love and hatred, desire
and aversion ; these arising from the power of com-
parison and reflection, extend their range wider, as
our reason strengthens, and our knowledge enlarges.
At first we have no thought of pain, but when we

NO. 49. KAMBLER. 347

actually feel it ; we afterwards begin to fear it, yet
not before it approaches us very nearly ; but by de-
grees we discover it at a greater distance, and find
it lurking in remote consequences. Our terror in
time improves into caution, and we learn to look
round with vigilance and solicitude, to stop all the
avenues at which misery can enter, and to perform
or endure many things in themselves toilsome and
unpleasing, because we know by reason, or by ex-
perience, that our labour will be overbalanced by
the reward ; that it will either procure some positive
good, or avert some evil greater than itself.

But as the soul advances to a fuller exercise of
its powers, the animal appetites, and the passions
immediately arising from them, are not sufficient to
find it employment ; the wants of nature are soon
supplied, the fear of their return is easily precluded,
and something more is necessary to relieve the long
intervals of inactivity, and to give those faculties,
which cannot lie wholly quiescent, some particular
direction. For this reason, new desires and arti-
ficial passions are by degrees produced ; and from
having wishes only in consequence of our wants, we
begin to feel wants in consequence of our wishes ;
we persuade ourselves to set a value upon things
which are of no use, but because we have agreed
to value them ; things which can neither satisfy
hunger, nor mitigate pain, nor secure us from any
real calamity, and which, therefore, we find of no
esteem among those nations whose artless and bar-
barous manners keep them always anxious for the
necessaries of life.

This is the original of avarice, vanity, ambition,
and generally of all those desires, which arise from
the comparison of our condition with that of others.
He that thinks himself poor, because his neighbour

348 RAMBLER. NO. 49.

is richer ; he that, like Caesar, would rather be the
first man of a village, than the second in the capital
of the world, has apparently kindled in himself de-
sires which he never received from nature, and acts
upon principles established only by the authority of
custom.

Of those adscititious passions, some, as avarice and
envy, are universally condemned ; some, as friend-
ship and curiosity, generally praised ; but there are
others about which the suffrages of the wise are di-
vided, and of which it is doubted, whether they tend
most to promote the happiness, or increase the mise-
ries of mankind.

Of this ambiguous and disputable kind is the love
of fame, a desire of filling the minds of others with
admiration, and of being celebrated by generations
to come with praises which we shall not hear. This
ardour has been considered by some, as nothing
better than splendid madness, as a flame kindled by
pride, and fanned by folly ; for what, say they, can
be more remote from wisdom, than to direct all our
actions by the hope of that which is not to exist till
we ourselves are in the grave ? To pant after that
which can never be possessed, and of which the
value thus wildly put upon it arises from this partic-
ular condition, that durmg life it is not to be ob-
tained ? To gain the favour, and hear the applauses
of our contemporaries, is, indeed, equally desirable
with any other prerogative of superiority, because
fame may be of use to smooth the paths of life, to
terrify opposition, and fortify tranquillity ; but to
what end shall we be the darlings of mankind, when
we can no longer receive any benefits from their
favour ? It is more reasonable to wish for reputa-
tion, while it may yet be enjoyed, as Anacreon calls
upon his companions to give him for present use the

NO. 49. RA31BLER. 349

wine and garlands which they purpose to bestow
upon his tomb.

The advocates for the love of fame allege in its
vindication, that it is a passion natural and univer-
sal ; a flame lighted by Heaven, and always burning
with greatest vigour in the most enlarged and ele-
vated minds. That the desire of being praised by
posterity implies a resolution to deserve their praises,
and that the folly charged upon it, is only a noble
and disinterested generosity, which is not felt, and,
therefore, not understood by those who have been
always accustomed to refer every thing to them-
selves, and whose selfishness has contracted their
understandings. That the soul of man, formed for
eternal life, naturally springs forward beyond the
limits of corporeal existence, and rejoices to consider
herself as cooperating with future ages, and as co-
extended with endless duration. Tiiat the reproach
urged with so much petulance, the reproach of labour-
ing for what cannot be enjoyed, is founded on an
opinion which may, with great probability, be doubt-
ed; for since we suppose the powers of the soul to
be enlarged by its separation, why should we con-
clude that its knowledge of sublunary transactions is
contracted or extinguished?

Upon an attentive and impartial review of the
argument, it will appear that the love of fame is to
be regulated rather than extinguished; and that
men should be taught not to be wholly careless about
their memory, but to endeavour that they may be
remembered chiefly for their virtues, since no other
reputation will be able to transmit any pleasure
beyond the grave.

It is evident that fame, considered merely as the
immortality of a name, is not less hkely to be the
reward of bad actions than of good ; he, therefore,

350 RAMBLER. XO. 49.

has no certain principle for the regulation of his
conduct, whose single aim is not to be forgotten.
And history will inform us, that this blind and un-
distinguishing appetite of renown has always been
uncertain in its effects, and directed, by accident or
opportunity, indifferently to the benefit or devasta-
tion of the world. When Themistocles complained
that the trophies of Miltiades hindered him from
sleep, he was animated by them to perform the same
services in the same cause. But Caesar, when he
wept at the sight of Alexander's picture, having no
honest opportunities of action, let his ambition break
out to the ruin of his country.

If, therefore, the love of fame is so far indulged
by the mind as to become independent and predom-
inant, it is dangerous and irregular ; but it may be
usefully employed as an inferior and secondary mo-
tive, and will serve sometimes to revive our activity,
when we beo;in to lano;uish and lose si^ht of that
more certain, more valuable, and more durable re-
ward, which ought always to be our first hope and
our last. But it must be strongly impressed upon
our minds, that virtue is not to be pursued as one
of the means to fame, but fame to be accepted as
the only recompense which mortals can bestow on
virtue ; to be accepted with complacence, but not
sought with eagerness. Simply to be remembered
is no advantage ; it is a privilege which satire as
well as panegyric can confer, and is not more en-
joyed by Titus or Constantine, than by Timocreon,
of Rhodes, of whom we only know from his epitaph,
' that he had eaten many a meal, drank many a
flagon, and uttered many a reproach.'

Ilo/l/la (payiov^ Kai iroTiXu tzIuv, koI TzoiXka KaK.'' elndv
'AvTdpcoTTOvgj Kelfiai Tifioitpiuv 'Podiog.

NO. 50. RAMBLER. 351

The true satisfaction which is to be drawn from
the consciousness that we shall share the attention
of future times, must arise from the hope, that, with
our name, our virtues will be propagated ; and that
those whom we cannot benefit in our lives, may re-
ceive instruction from our examples, and incitement
from our renown.

No. 50. SATURDAY, SEPTEJ^JDBER 8, 1750.

Credebant hoc grande nefas^ et Tnorte jnandum,
SI juvenis veiulo non assurrexerat, atque
Barbato cuicxinque puer ; licet ipse viaeret
Plura domi fraga, et majores glandis acervos.

juv. SAT. xiii. 54.

And had not men the hoary head revered,
And boys paid reverence when a man appear'd,
Both must have died, though richer skins they wore,
And saw more heaps of acorns in their store.

CREECH.

I HAVE always thought it the business of those
who turn their speculations upon the living world,
to commend their virtues, as well as to expose the
faults of their contemporaries, and to confute a false
as well as to support a just accusation ; not only be-
cause it is peculiarly the business of a monitor to
keep his own reputation untainted, lest those who
can once charge him with partiality, should indulge
themselves afterwards in disbelieving him at pleas-
ure ; but because he may find real crimes sufficient
to give full employment to caution or repentance,

352 RAMBLER. NO. 50.

without distracting the mind by needless scruples
and vain solicitudes.

There are certain fixed and stated reproaches
that one part of mankind has in all ages thrown
upon another, which are regularly transmitted
through continued successions, and which he that
has once suffered them is certain to use with the
same undistinguished vehemence, when he has
changed his station, and gained the prescriptive
right of inflicting on others what he had formerly
endured himself.

To these hereditary imputations, of which no man
sees the justice, till it becomes his interest to see
it, very little regard is to be shown : since it does
not appear that they are produced by ratiocination
or inquiry, but received implicitly, or caught by a
kind of instantaneous contagion, and supported
rather by willingness to credit, than ability to prove
them. ^

It has been always the practice of those who are
desirous to believe themselves made venerable by
length of time, to censure the new-comers into life,
for want of respect to gray hairs and sage experience,
for heady confidence in their own understandings,
for hasty conclusions upon partial views, for disre-
gard of counsels, which their fathers and grandsires
are ready to afford them, and a rebellious impatience
of that subordination to which youth is condemned
by nature, as necessary to its security from evils
into which it would be otherwise precipitated, by
the rashness of passion, and the blindness of
ignorance.

Every old man complains of the growing depravity
of the world, of the petulance and insolence of the
rising generation. He recounts the decency and reg-
ularity of former times, and celebrates the disci-

NO. 50. RAMBLER. 353

pline and sobriety of the age in which his youth was
passed ; a happy age, which is now no more to be
expected, since confusion has broken in upon the
world, and thrown down all the boundaries of civil-
ity and reverence.

It is not sufficiently considered how much he as-
sumes who dares to claim the privilege of complain-
ing ; for as every man has, in his own opinion, a full
share of the miseries of life, he is inclined to con-
sider all clamorous uneasiness as a proof of impa-
tience rather than of affliction, and to ask, what
merit has this man to show, by which he has ac-
quired a right to repine at the distributions of nature ?
Or, why does he imagine that exemptions should be
granted him from the general conditions of man ?
We find ourselves excited rather to captiousness
than pity, and instead of being in haste to soothe
his complaints by sympathy and tenderness, we in-
quire, whether the pain be proportionate to the
lamentation ; and whether, supposing the affliction
real, it is not the effect of vice and folly, rather than
calamity ?

The querulousness and indignation which is ob-
served so often to disfigure the last scene of life,
naturally leads us to inquiries like these. For surely
it will be thought at the first view of things, that if
age be thus contemned and ridiculed, insulted and
neglected, the crime must at least be equal on either
part. They who have had opportunities of estab-
lishing their authority over minds ductile and unre-
sisting, they who have been the protectors of
helplessness and the instructors of ignorance, and
who yet retain in their own hands the power of wealth
and the dignity of command, must defeat their in-
fluence by their own misconduct, and make use. of
all these advantages with very little skill, if they

VOL. XVI. 23

354 RAMBLER. NO. 50.

cannot secure to themselves an appearance of
respect, and ward off open mockery and declared
contempt.

The general story of mankind will evmce, that
lawful and settled authority is very seldom resisted
when it is well employed. Gross corruption, or
evident imbecility, is necessary to the suppression
of that reverence with which the majority of man-
kind look upon their governors, and on those whom
they see surrounded by splendour and fortified by
power. For though men are drawn by their pas-
sions into forgetfuhiess of invisible rewards and
punishments, yet they are easily kept obedient to
those who have temporal dominion in their hands,
till their veneration is dissipated by such wicked-
ness and folly as can neither be defended nor
concealed.

It may, therefore, very reasonably be suspected
that the old draw upon themselves the greatest part
of those insults, which they so much lament, and
that age is rarely despised but when it is contemp-
tible. If men imagine that excess of debauchery
can be made reverend by time, that knowledge is
the consequence of long life, however idly or thought-
lessly employed, that priority of birth will supply
the want of steadiness or honesty, can it raise much
wonder that their hopes are disappointed, and that
they see their posterity rather willing to trust their
own eyes in their progress into life, than enlist
themselves under guides who have lost their way .
There are, indeed, many truths which time neces-
sarily and certainly teaches, and which might, by
those who have learned them from experience, be
communicated to their successors at a cheaper rate ;
but dictates, though liberally enough bestowed, are
generally without effect, the teacher gains few pros-

NO. 50, KAMBLER. 355

eljtes by instruction wliich his own behaviour con-
tradicts ; and young men miss the benefit of counsel,
because they are not very ready to beheve that
those who fall below them in practice, can much
excel them in theory. Thus the progress of knowl-
edge is retarded, the world is kept long in the same
state, and every new race is to gain the prudence
of their predecessors by committing and redressing
the same miscarriages.

To secure to the old that influence which they are
willing to claim, and which might so much contrib-
ute to the improvement of the arts of life, it is abso-
lutely necessary that they give themselves up to
the duties of declining years ; and contentedly re-
sign to youth its levity, its pleasures, its frolics, and
its fopperies. It is a hopeless endeavour to unite
the contrarieties of spring and winter ; it is unjust
to claim the privileges of age, and retain the play-
things of childhood. The young always form mag-
nificent ideas of the wisdom and gravity of men,
whom they consider as placed at a distance from
them in the ranks of existence, and naturally look
on those whom they find trifling with long beards,
wnth contempt and indignation, like that which
women feel at the effeminacy of men. If dotards
will contend with boys in those performances in
which boys must always excel them ; if they will
dress crippled limbs in embroidery, endeavour at
gayety with faltering voices, and darken assemblies
of pleasure with the ghastliness of disease, they
may well expect those who find their diversions
obstructed will hoot them away ; and that, if they
descend to competition with youth, they must bear
the insolence of successful rivals.

356 RAMBLER. NO. 50.

Jjusisti satis, edisti satis, atque hibisii ;

Tempm abire tibi est. — HOR. epist. ii. 2. 214.

You've had your share of mirth, of meat and drmk:
'T is time to quit the scene — 'tis time to think.

ELPIIINSTOK.

Another vice of age, by which the rising genera-
tion may be alienated from it, is severity and cen-
soriousness, that gives no allowance to the failings
of early life, that expects artfulness from childhood
and constancy from youth, that is peremptory in
every command, and inexorable to every failure.
There are many who live merely to hinder happi-
ness, and whose descendants can only tell of long
life, that it produces suspicion, malignity, peevish-
ness, and persecution ; and yet even these tyrants
can talk of the ingratitude of the age, curse their
heirs for impatience, and wonder that young men
cannot take pleasure in their father's company.

He that would pass the latter part of life with
honour and decency, must, when he is young, con-
sider that he shall one day be old ; and remember,
when he is old, that he has once been young. In
youth he must lay up knowledge for his support,
when his powers of acting shall forsake him ; and
in age forbear to animadvert with rigour on faults
which experience only can correct.

NO. 51. RAMBLER. 357

No. 51. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1750.

— Stultus labor est ineptiarum.

AT ART. EPIG. ii. 86. 10.

How foolish is the toil of trifling cares ! elphtnston.

" TO THE RAMBLER.
" SIR,

" As you have allo^Yed a place in your paper to
Euphelia's letters from the country, and appear to
think no form of human life unworthy of your atten-
tion, I have resolved, after many struggles with idle-
ness and diflS.dence, to give you some account of my
entertainment in this sober season of universal
retreat, and to describe to you the employments of
those who look with contempt on the pleasures and
diversions of polite life, and employ all their powers
of censure and invective upon the uselessness, vanity,
and folly, of dress, visits, and conversation.

" When a tiresome and vexatious journey of four
days had brought me to the house, where invitation,
regularly sent for seven years together, had at last
induced me to pass the summer, I was surprised,
after the civilities of my first reception, to find,
instead of the leisure and tranquillity which a rural
life always promises, and, if well conducted, might
always afford, a confused wildness of care, and a
tumultuous hurry of dihgence, by which every face
was clouded and every motion agitated. The old
lady, who was my father's relation, was, indeed.

358 RAMBLER. NO. 61.

very full of the happiness which she received from
my visit, and, according to the forms of obsolete
breeding, insisted that I should recompense the long
delay of my company with a promise not to leave
her till winter. But, amidst all her kindness and
caresses, she very frequently turned her head aside,
and whispered, with anxious earnestness, some order
to her daughters,, which never failed to send them
out with unpolite precipitation. Sometimes her
impatience would not suffer her to stay behind ;
she begged my pardon, she must leave me for a mo-
ment ; she went, and returned and sat down again,
but was again disturbed by some new care, dismissed
her daughters with the same trepidation, and fol-
lowed them with the same countenance of business
and solicitude.

" However I was alarmed at this show of eager-
ness and disturbance, and however my curiosity
was excited by such busy preparations as naturally
promised some great event, I was yet too much a
stranger to gratify myself with inquiries ; but find-
ing none of the family in mourning, I pleased my-
self with imagining that I should rather see a wed-
ding than a funeral.

" At last we sat down to supper, when I was in-
formed that one of the young ladies, after whom I
thought myself obliged to inquire, was -under a ne-
cessity of attending some affair that could not be
neglected : soon afterward my relation began to talk
of the regularity of her family, and the inconveni-
ence of London hours ; and, at last, let me know that
they had purposed that night to go to bed sooner
than was usual, because they were to rise early in
the morning to cheesecakes. This hint sent me to
my chamber, to which I was accompanied by all the
ladies, who begged me to excuse some large sieves

NO. 51. RAMBLER. 359

of leaves and flowers that covered two thirds of the
floor, for they intended to distil them when they
were dry, and they had no other room that so con-
veniently received the rising sun.

" The scent of the plants hindered me from rest,
and therefore I rose early in the morning with a
resolution to explore my new habitation. I stole, un-
perceived, by my busy cousins into the garden, where
I found nothing either more great or elegant, than
in the same number of acres cultivated for the
market. Of the gardener, I soon learned that his
lady was the greatest manager in that part of the
country, and that I was come hither at the time in
which I might learn to make more pickles and con-
serves, than could be seen at any other house a hun-
dred miles round.

" It was not long before her ladyship gave me
sufficient opportunities of knowing her character,
for she was too much pleased with her own accom-
plishments to conceal them, and took occasion, from
some sweetmeats which she set next day upon the
table, to discourse for two long hours upon robs and
jellies ; laid down the best methods of conserving,
reserving, and preserving all sorts of fruit ; told us
with great contempt of the London lady in the neigh-
bourhood, by whom these terras were very often
confounded ; and hinted how much she should be
ashamed to set before company, at her own house,
sweetmeats, of so dark a colour as she had often
seen at mistress Sprightiy's.

" It is, indeed, the great business of her life, to
watch the skillet on the fire, to see it simmer with
the due degree of heat, and to snatch it off" at the
moment of projection ; and the employments to
which she has bred her daughters, are to turn rose-
leaves in the shade, to pick out the seeds of currants

360 RAMBLER. NO. 51.

with a quill, to gather fruit without bruising it, and
to extract bean-flower water for the skin. Such are
the tasks with which every day, since I came hither,
has begun and ended, to which the early hours of
life are sacrificed, and in which that time is passing
away which never shall return.

" But to reason or expostulate are hopeless at-
tempts. The lady has settled her opinions, and
maintains the dignity of her own performances with
all the firmness of stupidity accustomed to be flat-
tered. Her daughters having never seen any house
but their own, believe their mother's excellence on
her own word. Her husband is a mere sportsman,
who is pleased to see his table well furnished, and
thinks the day sufficiently successful, in which he
brings home a leash of hares to be potted by his
wife.

" After a few days I pretended to want books,
but my lady soon told me that none of her books
would suit my taste ; for her part, she never loved to
see young women give their minds to such follies,
by which they would only learn to use hard words ;
she bred up her daughters to understand a house,
and whoever should marry them, if they knew any
thing of good cookery, would never repent it.

" There are, however, some things in the culinary
science too sublime for youthful intellects, mysteries
into which they must not be initiated till the years
of serious maturity, and which are referred to the
day of marriage, as the supreme qualification for
connubial life. She makes an orange pudding, which
is the envy of all the neighbourhood, and which she
has hitherto found means of mixing and baking with
such secrecy, that the ingredient to which it owes
its flavour has never been discovered. She, indeed,
conducts this great affair with all the caution that

NO. 51. RAMBLER. 361

human policy can suggest. It is never known be-
forehand when this pudding will be produced ; she
takes the ingredients privately into her own closet,
employs her maids and daughters in different parts
of the house, orders the oven to be heated for a pie,
and places the pudding in it with her own hands :
the mouth of the oven is then stopped, and all in-
quiries are vain.

" The composition of the pudding she has, how-
ever, promised Clarinda, that if she pleases her in
marriage, she shall be told without reserve. But
the art of makmg English capers she has not yet
persuaded herself to discover, but seems resolved
that secret shall perish with her, as some alchemists
have obstmately suppressed the art of transmuting
metals.

" I once ventured to lay my fingers on her book
of receipts, which she left upon the table, having
intelligence that a vessel of gooseberry wine had
burst the hoops. But though the importance of
the event sufficiently engrossed her care, to prevent
any recollection of the danger to which her secrets
were exposed, I was not able to make use of the
golden moments ; for this treasure of hereditary
knowledge was so well concealed by the manner of
spelling used by her grandmother, her mother, and
herself, that I was totally unable to understand it,
and lost the opportunity of consulting the oracle, for
want of knowinsc the language in which its answers
were returned.

" It is, indeed, necessary, if I have any regard to
her ladyship's esteem, that I should apply myself to
some of these economical accomplishments ; for I
overheard her, two days ago, warning her daughters,
by my mournful example, against negligence of
pastry, and ignorance in carving ; ' for you saw,' said

362 KAMBLER. NO. 51.

she, ' that, with all her pretensions to knowledge,
she turned the partridge the wrong way when she
attempted to cut it, and, I believe, scarcely knows
the difference between paste raised, and paste in a
dish.'

" The reason, Mr. Rambler, why I have laid Lady
Bustle's character before you, is a desire to be in-
formed whether, in your opinion, it is worthy of imita-
tion, and whether I shall throw away the books which
I have hitherto thought it my duty to read, for The
Lady's Closet Opened, The Complete Servant-maid,
and The Court Cook, and resign all curiosity after
right and wrong, for the art of scalding damascenes
without bursting them, and preserving the whiteness
of pickled mushrooms.

" Lady Bustle has, indeed, by this incessant ap-
plication to fruits and flowers, contracted her cares
into a narrow space, and set herself free from many
perplexities with which other minds are disturbed.
She has no curiosity after the events of a war, or
the fate of heroes in distress ; she can hear without
the least emotion, the ravage of a fire, or devasta-
tions of a storm ; her neighbours grow rich or poor,
come into the world or go out of it, without regard,
while she is pressing the jelly-bag, or airing the
storeroom ; but I cannot perceive that she is more
free from disquiets than those whose understand-
ings take a wider range. Her marigolds, when they
are almost cured, are often scattered by the wind,
the rain sometimes falls upon fruit when it ought to
be gathered dry. While her artificial wines are
fermenting, her whole life is restlessness and anx-
iety. Her sweetmeats are not always bright, and
the maid sometimes forgets the just proportions of
salt and pepper, when venison is to be baked. Her
conserves mould, her wines sour, and pickles mother ;

NO. 52. RAMBLER. 363

and, like all the rest of mankind, she is every day
mortified with the defeat of her schemes and the
disappointment of her hopes.

" AVith regard to vice and virtue, she seems a
kind of neutral being. She has no crime but luxury,
nor any virtue but chastity ; she has no desire to be
praised but for her cookery ; nor wishes any ill to
the rest of mankind, but that whenever they aspire
to a feast, their custards may be wheyish, and their
pie-crusts tough.

" I am now very impatient to know whether I am
to look on these ladies as the great patterns of our
sex, and to consider conserves and pickles as the
business of my life ; whether the censures which I
now suffer be just, and whether the brewers of
wines, and the distillers of washes, have a right to
look with insolence on the w^eakness of

" Cornelia."

No. 52. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1750.

— Quoties flenti Theseiiis heros

Siste modum, dixit ; neque enim fortuna querenda

Sola tua est ; similes alior'um respice casuSj

Mitius ista feres. — oviD. met. xv. 492.

How oft in vain the son of Theseus said,
The stormy sorrows be with patience laid;
Nor are thy fortunes to be wept alone ;
Weigh others' woes, and learn to bear thy own.

CATCOTT.

Among the various methods of consolation, to
which the miseries inseparable from our present

364: RAMBLER. NO. 52-

state have given occasion, it has been, as I have
already remarked, recommended by some writers to
put the suJBferer in mind of heavier pressures, and
more excruciating calamities, than those of which
he has himself reason to complain.

This has, in all ages, been directed and practised ;
and, in conformity to this custom, Lipsius, the great
modern master of the stoic philosophy, has, in his
celebrated treatise on steadiness of mind, endeav-
oured to fortify the breast against too much sensi-
bility of misfortune, by enumerating the evils which
have in former ages fallen upon the world, the
devastation of wide-extended regions, the sack of
cities, and massacre of nations. And the common
voice of the multitude, uninstructed by precept, and
unprejudiced by authority, which, in questions that
relate to the heart of man, is, in my opinion, more
decisive than the learning of Lipsius, seems to justify
the efficacy of this procedure ; for one of the first
comforts which one neighbour administers to an-
other, is a relation of the like infelicity, combined
with circumstances of greater bitterness.

But this medicine of the mind is like many reme-
dies applied to the body, of which, though we see
the effects, we are unacquainted with the manner of
operation, and of which, therefore, some, who are
unwilling to suppose any thing out of the reach of
their own sagacity, have been inclined to doubt
whether they have really those virtues for which
they are celebrated, and whether their reputation
is not the mere gift of fancy, prejudice, and cre-
dulity.

Consolation, or comfort, are words which, in their
proper acceptation, signify some alleviation of that
pain to which it is not in our power to afford the
proper and adequate remedy ; they imply rather an

NO. 52. RAMBLER. 365

augmentation of the power of bearing, than a dimi-
nution of the burden. A prisoner is reUeved by
him that sets him at liberty, but receives comfort
from such as suggest considerations by which he is
made patient under the inconvenience of confine-
ment. To that grief which arises from a great loss,
he only brings the true remedy, who makes his
friend's condition the same as before ; but he may
be properly termed a comforter, who, by persua-
sion, extenuates the pain of poverty, and shows, in
the style of Hesiod, that half is more than the
whole.

It is, perhaps, not immediately obvious, how it
can lull the memory of misfortune, or appease the
throbbings of anguish, to hear that others are more
miserable ; others, perhaps, unknown or wholly
indiflferent, whose prosperity raises no envy, and
whose fall can gratify no resentment. Some topics
of comfort arising, like that which gave hope and
spirit to the captive of Sesostris, from the perpetual
vicissitudes of life, and mutability of human affairs,
may as properly raise the dejected, as depress the
proud, and have an immediate tendency to exhil-
arate and revive. But how can it avail the man
who languishes in the gloom of sorrow, without pros-
pect of emerging into the sunshine of cheerfulness,
to hear that others are sunk yet deeper in the dun-
geon of misery, shackled with heavier chains, and
surrounded with darker desperation ?

The solace arising from this consideration seems,
indeed, the weakest of all others, and is, perhaps,
never properly applied, but in cases where there is
no place for reflections of more speedy and pleasing
efficacy. But even from such calamities life is by
no means free ; a thousand ills incurable, a thousand
losses iiTcparable, a thousand diificulties insurmount-

366 RAMBLER. NO. 52.

able, are known, or will be known, by all the sons
of men. Native deformity cannot be rectified, a
dead friend cannot return, and the hours of youth
trifled away in folly, or lost in sickness, cannot be
restored.

Under the oppression of such melancholy, it has
been found useful to take a survey of the world, to
contemplate the various scenes of distress in which
mankind are struggling round us, and acquaint bur-
selves with the terrihiles visu formcB^ the various
shapes of misery, which make havoc of terrestrial
happiness, range all corners almost without restraint,
trample down our hopes at the hour of harvest, and,
when we have built our schemes to the top, ruin
their foundations.

The first effect of this meditation is, that it fur-
nishes a new employment for the mind, and engages
the passions on remoter objects ; as kings have some-
times freed themselves from a subject too haughty
to be governed, and too powerful to be crushed, by
posting him in a distant province, till his popularity
has subsided, or his pride been repressed. The
attention is dissipated by variety, and acts more
weakly upon any single part, as that torrent may be
drawn off to different channels, which, pouring down
in one collected body, cannot be resisted. This
species of comfort is, therefore, unavailing in severe
paroxysms of corporal pain, when the mind is every
instant called back to misery, and in the first shock
of any sudden evil ; but will certainly be of use
against encroaching melancholy, and a settled habit
of gloomy thoughts.

It is further advantageous, as it supplies us with
opportunities of making comparisons in our own
favour. We know that very little of the pain, or
pleasure, which does not begin and end in our

NO. 52. RAMBLER. 367

senses, is otherwise than relative ; we are rich or
poor, great or little, in proportion to the number that
excel us, or fall beneath us, in any of these respects ;
and, therefore, a man, whose uneasiness arises from
reflection or any misfortune that throws him below
those with whom he was once equal, is comforted by
finding that he is not yet lowest.

There is another kind of comparison, less tending
towards the vice of envy, very well illustrated by an
old poet, whose system will not afford many reason-
able motives to content. ' It is,' says he, ' pleasing
to look from shore upon the tumults of a storm, and
to, see a ship struggling with the billows ; it is pleas-
ing, not because the pain of another can give us de-
light, but because we have a stronger impression
of the happiness of safety.' Thus, when we look
abroad, and behold the multitudes that are groaning
under evils heavier than those which we have ex-
perienced, we shrink back to our own state, and,
instead of repining that so much must be felt, learn
to rejoice that we have not more to feel.

By this observation of the miseries of others,
fortitude is strengthened, and the mind brought to a
more extensive knowledge of her own powers. As
the heroes of action catch the flame from one an-
other, so they to whom Providence has allotted the
harder task of suffering with calmness and dignity,
may animate themselves by the remembrance of
those, evils which have been laid on others, perhaps
naturally as weak as themselves, and bear up with
vigour and resolution against their own oppressions,
when they see it possible that more severe afflictions
may be borne.

There is still another reason why, to many minds,
the relation of other men's infelicity may give a
lasting and continual relief. Some, not well in-

368 RAMBLER. NO. 53.

structed in the measures by which Providence dis-
tributes happiness, are, perhaps, misled by divines,
who, as Bellarmine, malies temporal prosperity one
of the characters of the true church, have repre-
sented wealth and ease as the certain concomitants
of virtue, and the unfailing result of the divine ap-
probation. Such sufferers are dejected in their
misfortunes, not so much for what they feel, as for
what they dread ; not because they cannot support
the sorrows, or endure the wants, of their present
condition, but. because they consider them as only
the beginnings of more sharp and more lasting
pains. To these mourners it is an act of the highest
charity to represent the calamities which not only
virtue has suffered, but virtue has incurred ; to in-
form them that one evidence of a future state is the
uncertainty of any present reward for goodness ; and
to remind them, from the highest authority, of the
distresses and penury of men ' of whom the world
was not worthy.'

No. 53. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1750.

^eideo tuv Kredvuv. epigram, vet.

Husband thy possessions.

There is scarcely among the evils of human life,
any so generally dreaded as poverty. Every other
species of misery, those who are not much accus-

NO. 53. RAMBLER. 369

tomed to disturb the present moment with reflection,
can easily forget, because it is not always forced
upon their regard ; but it is impossible to pass a day
or an hour in the confluxes of men, without seeing
how much indigence is exposed to contumely,
neglect, and insult; and, in its lowest state, to
hunger and nakedness ; to injuries against which
every passion is in arms, and to wants which nature
cannot sustain.

Against other evils the heart is often hardened by
true or by false notions of dignity and reputation :
thus we see dangers of every kind faced with wil-
lingness, because bravery, in a good or bad cause, is
never without its encomiasts and admirers. But in
the prospect of poverty, there is nothing but gloom
and melancholy ; the mind and body suffer together ;
its miseries bring no alleviations ; it is a state in
which every virtue is obscured, and in which no
conduct can avoid reproach ; a state in which cheer-
fulness is insensibility, and dejection sullenness ; of
which the hardships are without honour, and the
labours without reward.

Of these calamities there seems not to be wanting
a general conviction ; we hear on every side the
noise of trade, and see the streets thronged with
numberless multitudes, whose faces are clouded with
anxiety, and whose steps are hurried by precipita-
tion, from no other motive than the hope of gain ;
and the whole world is put in motion, by the desire
of that wealth, which is chiefly to be valued, as it
secures us from poverty ; for it is more useful for
defence than acquisition, and is not so much able to
procure good as to exclude evil.

Yet there are always some whose passions or
follies lead them to a conduct opposite to the general
maxims and practice of mankind ; some who seem

VOL. XVI. 24

370 RAMBLER. NO. 53.

to rush upon poverty, with the same eagerness with
which others avoid it ; who see their revenues hourly
lessened, and the estates which they inherit from
their ancestors mouldering away, without resolution
to change their course of life; who persevere
against all remonstrances, and go forward with
full career, though they see before them the preci-
pice of destruction.

It is not my purpose, in this paper, to expostulate
with such as ruin their fortunes by expensive
schemes of buildings and gardens, which they carry
on with the same vanity that prompted them to
begin choosing, as it happens in a thousand other
cases, the remote evil before the lighter, and de-
ferring the shame of repentance till they incur the
miseries of distress. Those for whom I intend ray
present admonitions, are the thoughtless, the negli-
gent, and the dissolute ; who having by the vicious-
ness of their own inclinations, or the seducements
of alluring companions, been engaged in habits of
expense, and accustomed to move in a certain round
of pleasures disproportioned to their condition, are
without power to extricate themselves from the
enchantments of custom, avoid thought because they
know it will be painful, and continue from day to
day, and from month to month, to anticipate their
revenues, and sink every hour deeper into the gulfs
of usury and extortion.

This folly has less claim to pity, because it cannot
be imputed to the vehemence of sudden passion ;
nor can the mischief which it produces be extenuated
as the effect of any single act, which rage, or desire,
might execute before there could be time for an ap-
peal to reason. These men are advancing towards
misery by soft approaches, and destroying them-
selves, not by the violence of a blow, which, when

NO. 53. RAMBLER. 371

once given, can never be recalled, but by a slow
poison, hourly repeated, and obstinately continued.

This conduct is so absurd when it is examined by
the unprejudiced eye of rational judgment, that
nothing but experience could evince its possibility ;
yet, absurd as it is, the sudden fall of some families,
and the sudden rise of others, prove it to be com-
mon ; and every year sees many wretches reduced
to contempt and want, by their costly sacrifices to
pleasure and vanity.

It is the fate of almost every passion, when it has
passed the bounds which nature prescribes, to coun-
teract its own purpose. Too much rage hinders the
warrior from circumspection, too much eagerness
of profit hurts the credit of the trader, too much
ardour takes away from the lover that easiness of
address, with w^hich ladies are delighted. Thus ex-
travagance, though dictated by vanity and incited
by voluptuousness, seldom procures ultimately either
applause or pleasure.

If praise be justly estimated by the character of
those from whom it is received, little satisfaction
will be given to the spendthrift by the encomiums
which he purchases. For who are they that ani-
mate him in his pursuits, but young men, thought-
less and abandoned like himself, unacquainted with
all on which the wisdom of nations has impressed
the stamp of excellence, and devoid alike of knowl-
edge and of virtue ? By whom is his profusion
praised, but by wretches who consider him as sub-
servient to their purposes, su'ens that entice him to
shipwreck, and cyclops that are gaping to devour
him?

Every man whose knowledge, or whose virtue,
can give value to his opinion, looks with scorn, or
pity, neither of which can afford much gratification

372 RAMBLER. NO. 53.

to pride, on him whom the panders of luxury have
drawn into the circle of their influence, and whom
he sees parcelled out among the different mmisters
of folly, and about to be torn to pieces by tailors
and jockeys, vintners and attorneys, who at once rob
and ridicule him, and who are secretly triumphmg
over his weakness, when they present new mcite-
ments to his appetite, and heighten his desires by
counterfeited applause.

Such is the praise that is purchased by prodi-
gality. Even when it is yet not discovered to be
false, it is the praise only of those whom it is re-
proachful to please, and whose sincerity is corrupted
by their interest: men who live by the riots which
they encourage, and who know that whenever their
pupil grows wise, they shall lose their power. Yet
with such flatteries, if they could last, might the
cravings of vanity, which is seldom very delicate,
be satisfied; but the time is always hastening for-
ward when this triumph, poor as it is, shall vanish,
and when those who now surround him with obse-
quiousness and comphments, fawn among his equi-
page, and animate his riots, shall turn upon him
with insolence, and reproach him with the vices
promoted by themselves.

And as little pretensions has the man, who squan-
ders his estate, by vain or vicious expenses, to greater
degrees of pleasure than are obtained by others, io
make any happiness sincere, it is necessary that we
beUeve it to be lasting ; since whatever we suppose
ourselves in danger of losing, must be enjoyed with
solicitude and uneasiness, and the more value we set
upon it, the more must the present possession be
imbittered. How can he, then, be envied for his fe-
licity, who knows that its continuance cannot be ex-
pected, and who is conscious that a very short time

NO. 53. RAMBLER. 373

will give him up to the gripe of poverty, which will
be harder to be borne, as he has given way to more
excesses, wantoned in greater abundance, and in-
dulged his appetites with more profuseness ?

It appears evident that frugality is necessary even
to complete the pleasure of expense ; for it may be
generally remarked of those who squander what
they know their fortune not sufficient to allow, that
in their most jovial expense, there always breaks
out some proof of discontent and impatience ; they
either scatter with a kind of wild desperation and
affected lavishness, as criminals brave the gallows
when they cannot escape it, or pay their money with
a peevish anxiety, and endeavour at once to spend
idly, and to save meanly ; having neither firmness to
deny their passions, nor courage to gratify them, they
murmur at their own enjoyments, and poison the
bowl of pleasure by reflection on the cost.

Among these men there is often the vociferation
of merriment, but very seldom the tranquillity of
cheerfulness ; they inflame their imaginations to a
kind of momentary jollity, by the help of wine and
riot, and consider it as the first business of the night
to stupefy recollection, and lay that reason asleep
which disturbs their gayety, and calls upon them to
retreat from ruin.

But this poor broken satisfaction is of short con-
tinuance, and must be expiated by a long series of
misery and regret. In a short time the creditor
grows impatient, the last acre is sold, the passions
and appetites still continue theii' tyranny, with in-
cessant calls for their usual gratifications, and the
remainder of life passes away in vain repentance or
impotent desii-e.

374 RAMBLER. NO. 54.

No. 54. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 22,1750.

Truditur dies die,

Novceque lyergunt interire lunm
Tu secanda mavmora .

Locas sub ipsumfunus, et sepulchn
Immenwr struts domos. hok. cak. u. lo. 1&.

Day presses on the heels of day,

And moons increase to their decay;

But you, with thoughtless pride elate,

Unconscious of impending fate, _

Command the pillar' d dome to rise,

When, lo ! thy tomb forgotten lies. francis.

" TO THE RAMBLER.
" SIR,

" I HAVE lately been called, from a mingled life
of business and amusement, to attend the last hours
of an old friend ; an office which has filled me, if not
with melancholy, at least with serious reflections,
and turned my thoughts towards the contemplation
of those subjects, which, though of the utmost im-
portance, and of indubitable certainty, are generally
secluded from our regard, by the jollity of health,
the hurry of employment, and even by the calmer
diversions of study and speculation ; or, if they be-
come accidental topics of conversation and argument,
yet rarely sink deep into the heart, but give occa-
sion only to some subtilties of reasoning, or ele-
o-ances of declamation, which are heard, applauded,

o

and forgotten. ,

"It is, indeed, not hard to conceive how a man
accustomed to extend his views through a long

NO. 54.

RAMBLER. 375

concatenation of causes and effects, to trace things
from their origin to their period, and compare means
with ends, may discover the weakness of human
schemes ; detect the fallacies by which mortals are
deluded ; show the insufficiency of w^ealth, honours,
and power, to real happiness ; and please himself,
and his auditors, with learned lectures on the vanity

of life.

" But though the speculatist may see and show
the folly of terrestrial hopes, fears, and desires, every
hour will give proofs that he never felt it. Trace
him through the day or year, and you will find him
acting upon principles which he has in common with
the iUiterate and unenlightened ; angry and pleased
like the lowest of the vulgar ; pursuing with the
same ardour, the same designs ; grasping, with all
the eagerness of transport, those riches which he
knows °he cannot keep, and. swelling with the ap-
plause which he has gained by proving that applause
is of no value.

" The only conviction that rushes upon the soul,
and takes away from our appetites and passions the
power of resistance, is to be found, where I have
received it, at the bed of a dying friend. To enter
this school of wisdom is not the pecuhar privilege
of geometricians ; the most sublime and important
precepts require no uncommon opportunities, nor
laborious preparations ; they are enforced without
the aid of eloquence, and understood without skill
in analytic science. Every tongue can utter them,
and every understanding can conceive them. He
that wishes in earnest to obtain just sentiments con-
cerning his condition, and would be intimately ac-
quainted with the world, may find instructions on
every side. He that desires to enter behind the
scene, which every art has been employed to deco-

376 RAMBLER. NO. 54.

rate, and every passion labours to illuminate, and
wishes to see life stripped of those ornaments which
make it glitter on the stage, and exposed in its nat-
ural meanness, impotence, and nakedness, may find
all the delusion laid open in the chamber of disease :
he will there find vanity divested of her robes, power
deprived of her sceptre, and hypocrisy without her
mask.

" The friend whom I have lost was a man emi-
nent for genius, and, like others of the same class,
sufficiently pleased with acceptance and applause.
Being caressed by those who have preferments and
riches in their disposal, he considered himself as in
the direct road of advancement, and had caught the
flame of ambition by approaches to its object. But
in the midst of his hopes, his projects, and his gaye-
ties, he was seized by a lingering disease, which,
from its first stage, he knew to be incurable. Here
was an end of all his visions of greatness and happi-
ness ; from the first hour that his health declined,
all his former pleasures grew tasteless. His friends
expected to please him by those accounts of the
growth of his reputation, which were formerly cer-
tain of being well received ; but they soon found
how little he was now affected by compliments,
and how vainly they attempted, by flattery, to exhil-
arate the languor of weakness, and relieve the
solicitude of approaching death. Whoever would
know how much piety and virtue surpass all external
goods, might here have seen them weighed against
each other, where all that gives motion to the active,
and elevation to the eminent, all that sparkles in the
eye of hope, and pants in the bosom of suspicion, at
once became dust in the balance, without weight
and without regard. Riches, authority, and praise,
lose all their influence when they are considered

NO. 54. RAMBLER. 377

as riches which to-morrow shall be bestowed upon
another, authority which shall this night expire
forever, and praise which, however merited, or how-
ever sincere, shall, after a few moments, be heard
no more.

" In those hours of seriousness and wisdom, noth-
ing appeared to raise his spirits, or gladden his heart,
but the recollection of acts of goodness ; nor to excite
his attention, but some opportunity for the exercise
of the duties of religion. Every thing that termi-
nated on this side of the grave was received with
coldness and indifference, and regarded rather in
consequence of the habit of valuing it, than from
any opinion that it deserved value ; it had little
more prevalence over his mind than a bubble that
was now broken, a dream from which he was
awake. His whole powers were engrossed by the
consideration of another state ; and all conversation
was tedious that had not some tendency to disen-
gage him from human affairs, and open his prospects
into futurity.

" It is now past, we have closed his eyes, and
heard him breathe the groan of expiration. At the
sight of his last conflict, I felt a sensation never
known to me before ; a confusion of passions, an
awful stillness of sorrow, a gloomy terror without
a name. The thoughts that entered my soul were
too strong to be diverted, and too piercing to be
endured ; but such violence cannot be lasting, the
storm subsided in a short time ; I wept, retired, and
grew calm.

" I have from that time frequently revolved in
my mind the effects which the observation of death
produces in those who are not wholly without the
power and use of reflection ; for, by far the greater
part, it is wholly unregarded. Their friends and

378 RAMBLER. NO. 54.

their enemies sink into the grave without raising
any uncommon emotion, or reminding them that
they are themselves on the edge of the precipice,
and that they must soon plunge into the gulf of
eternity.

" It seems to me remarkable that death increases
our veneration for the good, and extenuates our
hatred of the bad. Those virtues which once we
envied, as Horace observes, because they eclipsed
our own, can now no longer obstruct our reputation,
and we have, therefore, no interest to suppress their
praise. That wickedness which we fSared for its
malignity, is now become impotent; and the man
whose name filled us with alarm, and rage, and
indignation, can at last be considered only with pity,
or contempt.

" When a friend is carried to the grave, we at
once find excuses for weakness, and palliations
of every fault ; we recollect a thousand endear-
ments which before glided off our minds without
impression, a thousand favours unrepaid, a thousand
duties unperformed; and wish, vainly wish for his
return, not so much that we may receive, as that we
may bestow happiness, and recompense that kind-
ness which before we never understood.

" There is not, perhaps, to a mind well instructed,
a more painful occurrence, than the death of one
whom we have injured without reparation. Our
crime seems now irretrievable, it is indelibly re-
corded, and the stamp of fate is fixed upon it. We
consider, with the most aiSictive anguish, the pain
which we have given, and now cannot alleviate ; and
the losses which we have caused, and now cannot
repair.

" Of the same kind are the emotions which the
death of an emulator or competitor produces. Who-

NO. 54. RAMBLER. 379

ever had qualities to alarm our jealousy, had excel-
lence to deserve our fondness ; and to whatever
ardour of opposition interest may inflame us, no
man ever outlived an enemy, whom he did not then
wish to have made a friend. Those who are versed
in literary history know that the elder Scaliger was
the redoubted antagonist of Cardan and Erasmus ;
vet at the death of each of his great rivals he
relented, and complained that they were snatched
away from him before their reconciliation was com-
pleted.

Tu ne etiam moreris f Ah ! quid me linquis, Erasme,
Ante mens quam sit conciliatus amor ?

Art thou too fall'n? — ere anger could subside, •
And love return, has great Erasmus died ?

" Such are the sentiments with which we finally
review the effects of passion, but which we some-
times delay till we can no longer rectify our errors.
Let us, therefore, make haste to do what we shall
certainly at last wish to have done ; let us return
the caresses of our friends, and endeavour by mu-
'tual endearments to heighten that tenderness which
is the balm of life. Let us be quick to repent of
injuries, while repentance may not be a barren an-
guish, and let us open our eyes to every rival excel-
lence, and pay early and willingly those honours
which justice will compel us to pay at last.

" Athanatus."

380

•RAMBLER. nO. 65.

No. 55. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1750.

Maturo propior desine funeri
Inter ludere virgines,

Et stellis nebulam spargere candidis.
Non si quid Pholoen satis

Et te, C/dori, decei.— hor. car. iii. 15. 4.

Now near to death that comes but slow
Now thou art stepping down below ; '
Sport not amongst the blooming maids
But think on ghosts and empty shades :'
What suits with Pholoe in her bloom
Gray Chloris, will not thee become; '
A bed is diflferent from a tomb.

CREECH.

((

TO THE RAMBLER.

((

SIR,

«I HAVE been but a little time conversant in the
world, yet I have already had frequent opportuni-
ties of observing the little efficacy of remonstrance
and complaint, which, however extorted by oppres-
sion, or supported by reason, are detested by one
part of the world as rebellion, censured by another
as peevishness, by some heard with an appearance
ot compassion, only to betray any of those sallies of
vehemence and resentment which are apt to break
out upon encouragement, and by others passed over
with indifference and neglect, as matters in which
they have no concern, and which, if they should
endeavour to examine or regulate, they mio-ht draw
mischief upon themselves. °

;' Yet since it is no less natural for those who
think themselves injured to complain, than for others

NO. 55. RAMBLER. 381

to neglect their complaints, I shall venture to lay
my case before you, in hopes that you will enforce
my opinion, if you think it just, or endeavour to
rectify my sentiments, if I am mistaken. I expect,
at least, that you will divest yourself of partiality,
and that, whatever your age or solemnity may be,
you will not, with the dotard's insolence, pronounce
me ignorant and foolish, perverse and refractory,
only because you perceive that I am young.

" My father dying when I was but ten years old,
left me, and a brother two years younger than my-
self, to the care of my mother, a woman of birth and
education, whose prudence or virtue he had no
reason to distrust. She felt, for some time, all the
sorrow which nature calls forth upon the final sep-
aration of persons dear to one another ; and as her
grief was exhausted by its own violence, it subsided
into tenderness for me and my brother, and the
year of mourning was spent in caresses, consolations,
and instruction, in celebration of my father's virtues,
in professions of perpetual regard to his memory,
and hourly instances of such fondness as gratitude
will not easily suffer me to forget.

" But when the term for this mournful felicity
was expired, and my mother appeared again with-
out the ensigns of sorrow, the ladies of her acquaint-
ance began to tell her, upon whatever motives, that
it was time to live like the rest of the world; a
powerful argument, which is seldom used to a
woman without effect. Lady Giddy was incessantly
relating the occurrences of the town, and Mrs.
Gravely told her privately, with great tenderness,
that it began to be publicly observed how much she
overacted her part, and that most of her acquaint-
ance suspected her hope of procuring another
husband to be the true ground of all that appearance
of tenderness and piety.

382 RAMBLER. , NO. 55.

" All the officiousness of kindness and folly was
busied to change her conduct. She was at one
time alarmed with censure, and at another fired with
praise. She was told of balls, where others shone
only because she was absent ; of new comedies, to
which all the town was crowding ; and of many in-
genious ironies, by which domestic diligence was
made contemptible.

" It is difficult for virtue to stand alone against
fear on one side, and pleasure on the other ; espe-
cially when no actual crime is proposed, and prudence
itself can suggest many reasons for relaxation and
indulgence. My mamma was at last persuaded to
accompany Miss Giddy to a play. She was received
with a boundless profusion of compliments, and at-
tended home by a very fine gentleman. Next day,
she was with less difficulty prevailed on to play at
Mrs. Gravely's, and came home gay and lively;
for the distinctions that had been paid her awakened
her vanity, and good luck had kept her principles
of frugality from giving her disturbance. She now
made her second entrance into the world, and her
friends were sufficiently industrious to prevent any
return to her former hfe ; every morning brought
messages of invitation, and every evening was passed
in places of diversion, from which she for some time
complained that she had rather be absent. In a
short time she began to feel the happiness of acting
without control, of being unaccountable for her
hours, her expenses, and her company ; and learned,
by degrees, to drop an expression of contempt, or
pity, at the mention of ladies whose husbands were
suspected of restraining their pleasures or their play,
and confessed that she loved to go and come as she
pleased.

" I was still favoured with some incidental pre-

NO. 55. RAMBLER. 383

cepts and transient endearments, and was now and
then fondlj kissed for smiling like my papa ; but
most part of her morning was spent in comparing
the opinion of her maid and milliner, contriving
some variation in her dress, visiting shops, and
sending compliments; and the rest of the day was
too short for visits, cards, plays, and concerts.

" She now began to discover that it was impos-
sible to educate children properly at home. Parents
could not have them always in their sight ; the
society of servants was contagious ; company pro-
duced boldness and spirit ; emulation excited indus-
try ; and a large school was naturally the first step
into the open world. A thousand other reasons she
alleged, some of little force in themselves, but so
well seconded by pleasure, vanity, and idleness,
that they soon overcame all the remaining principles
of kindness and piety, and both I and my brother
were dispatched to boarding-schools.

" How my mamma spent her time when she was
thus disburdened I am not able to inform you, but
I have reason to believe that trifles and amusements
took still faster hold of her heart. At first, she
visited me at school, and afterwards wrote to me;
but in a short time both her visits and her letters
were at an end, and no other notice was taken of
me than to remit money for my support.

"• When I came home, at the vacation, I found
myself coldly received, with an observation, that
' this girl will presently be a woman.' I was, after
the usual stay, sent to school again, and overheard
my mother say, as I was a-going, ' Well, now I
shall recover.'

" In six months more I came again, and with the
usual childish alacrity, was running to my mother's
embrace, when she stopped me with exclamations at

384 RAMBLER. NO. 55.

the suddenness and enormity of my growth, having,
she said, never seen any body shoot up so much at
my age. She was sure no other girls spread at that
rate, and she hated to have children look like women
before their time. I was disconcerted, and retired
without hearing any thing more than, 'Nay, if
you are angry, Madam Steeple, you may walk off.'

" When once the forms of civihty are violated,
there remains httle hope of return to kindness or
decency. My mamma made this appearance of re-
sentment a reason for continuing her malignity ; and
poor Miss May-pole, for that was my appellation,
was never mentioned or spoken to but with some
expression of anger or dislike.

" She had yet the pleasure of dressing me like a
child, and I know not when I should have been
thought fit to change my habit, had I not been res-
cued by a maiden sister of my fiither, who could not
bear to see women in hanging-sleeves, and, there-
fore, presented me with brocade for a gown, for
which I should have thought myself under great
obhgations had she not accompanied her favour with
some hints that my mamma might now consider her
age, and give me her ear-rings, which she had
shown long enough in public places.

" I now left the school and came to live with my
mamma, who considered me as an usurper that had
seized the rights of a woman before they were due,
and was pushing her down the precipice of age, that
I might reign without a superior. While I am thus
beheld with jealousy and suspicion, you will readily
believe that it is difficult to please. Every word
and look is an ofience. I never speak, but I pretend
to some qualities and excellences, which it is crimi-
nal to possess ; if I am gay, she thinks it early enough
to coquette ; if I am grave, she hates a prude in

NO. 55. RAMBLER. 3^5

hihs ; if I venture into company, I am in haste for a
husband; if I retire to my chamber, such matron-
like ladies are lovers of contemplation. I am on
one pretence or other generally excluded from her
assemblies, nor am I ever suffered to visit at the
same place with my mamma. Every one wonders
why she does not bring Miss more into the world,
and when she comes home in vapours, I am certain
that she has heard either of my beauty or my wit,
and expect nothing for the ensuing week but taunts
and menaces, contradiction and reproaches.

" Thus I hve in a state of continual persecution,
only because I was born ten years too soon, and
cannot stop the course of nature or of time, but am
unhappily a woman before my mother can willino-ly
cease to be a girl. I believe you would contribme
to the happmess of many famihes, if, by any argu-
ments or persuasions, you could make mothers
ashamed of rivaUing their children ; if you could
show them that, though they may refuse to orow
wise they must inevitably grow old; and that" the
proper solaces of age are not music and compli-
ments, but wisdom and devotion ; that those who are
so unwilling to quit the world wiU soon be driven
from it; and that it is therefore their interest to re-
tire while there yet remain a few hours for nobler
employments.

" I am, &c.,

" Parthenia."

VOL. XVI. 25

386

KAMBLER. NO. 56.

No. 56. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1750.

— Valeat res ludicra, si me
Palma negata macrum, donata reducit qpimum.

HOR. EPIST. ii. 1. 180.

Farewell the stage; for humbly I disclaim

Such fond pursuits of pleasure, or of tame,

If I must sink in shame, or swell with pride,

As the gay palm is granted or denied. Francis.

Nothing is more unpleasing than to find that
offence has been received when none was intended,
and that pain has been given to those who were not
cruilty of any provocation. As the great end ot
society is mutual beneficence, a good man is always
uneasy when he finds himself acting in opposition
to the purposes of life ; because, though his con-
science may easily acquit him of malice prepense,
of settled hatred or contrivances of mischief, yet he
seldom can be certain that he has not failed by
neo-ligence, or indolence ; that he has not been hin-
dered from consulting the common interest by too
much regard to his own ease, or too much inditier-
ence to the happiness of others.

Nor is it necessary, that, to feel this uneasiness,
the mmd should be extended to any great diffusion
of generosity, or melted by uncommon warmth ot
benevolence; for that prudence which the world
teaches, and a quick sensibility of private mterest,
wiU direct us to shun needless enmities ; since there
is no man whose kindness we may not some time

NO. 56. RAMBLER. 337

want, or by whose malice we may not some time
suffer.

I have, therefore, frequently looked with wonder,
and now and then with pity, at the thoughtlessness
with which some ahenate from themselves the affec-
tions of all whom chance, business, or incHnation,
brings m their way. When we see a man pursumg
some darling interest, without much regard to the
opinion of the world, we justly consider him as cor-
rupt and dangerous, but are not long in discovermg
his motives ; we see him actuated by passions which
are hard to be resisted, and deluded by appearances
which have dazzled stronger eyes. But the greater
part of those who set mankmd at defiance by hourly
irritation, and who live but to infuse malignity and
multiply enemies, have no hopes to foster, no designs
to promote, nor any expectations of attaining power
by insolence, or of climbing to greatness by tramp-
ling on others. They give up all the sweets of kind-
ness for the sake of peevishness, petulance, or gloom;
and alienate the world by neglect of the common
• forms of civility, and breach of the estabhshed laws
of conversation.

Every one must, in the walks of hfe, have met
with men of whom all speak with censure, though
they are not chargeable with any crime, and wholn
none can be persuaded to love, though a reason can
scarcely be assigned why they should be hated ; and
who, if their good qualities and actions sometimes
force a commendation, have their panegyric always
concluded with confessions of disgust : " He is a good
man, but I cannot like him." Surely, such pei^ons
have sold the esteem of the world at too low a price,
since they have lost one of the rewards of virtue,
without gaining the profits of wickedness.

This ill economy of fame is sometimes the effect

388 RAMBLER. NO. 56.

of Stupidity. Men whose perceptions are languid
and sluggish, who lament nothing but loss of money,
and feel nothing but a blow, are often at a difficulty
to guess why they are encompassed with enemies,
though they neglect all those arts by which men are
endeared to one another. They comfort themselves
that they have lived irreproachably ; that none can
charge them Avith having endangered his life, or
duninished his possessions ; and, therefore, conclude,
that they suffer by some invincible fatahty, or im-
pute the maUce of their neighbours to ignorance or
envy. They wrap themselves up in their innocence,
and enjoy the congratulations of their own hearts,
without knowing or suspecting that they are every
day deservedly incurring resentment, by withholding
from those with whom they converse, that regard,
or appearance of regard, to which every one is en-
titled by the customs of the world.

There are many injuries which almost every man
feels, though he does not complain, and which, upon
those whom vktue, elegance, or vanity have made
delicate and tender, fix deep and lastmg impressions ;
as there are many arts of graciousness and concilia-
tion, which are to be practised without expense, and
by which those may be made our friends, who have
never received from us any real benefit. Such arts,
when they include neither guilt nor meanness, it is
surely reasonable to learn, for who would want that
love which is so easily to be gained ? And such in-
juries are to be avoided ; for who would be hated
without profit ?

Some, indeed, there are, for whom the excuse of
ignorance or negligence cannot be alleged, because
it is apparent that they are not only careless of
pleasing, but studious to offend ; that they contrive
to make all approaches to them difficult and vexa-

NO. 56.

RAMBLER. 389

tious, and imagine that they aggrandize themselves
by wasting the time of others in useless attendance,
by mortifying them with slights, and teasmg them
with affronts.

Men of this kind are generally to be found among
those that have not mmgled much in general con-
versation, but spent their lives amidst the obsequious-
ness of dependents, and the flattery of parasites ;
and by long consuking only their own inclination,
have forgotten that others have a claun to the same
deference.

Tyranny, thus avowed, is indeed an exuberance
of pride, by which all mankind is so much enraged
that it is never quietly endured, except in those who
can reward the patience which they exact ; and in-
solence is generally surrounded only by such whose
baseness mclines them to think nothmg msupport-
able that produces gain, and who can laugh at
scurrility and rudeness with a luxurious table and
an open purse.

But though all wanton provocations and contemp-
tuous msolence are to be dihgently avoided, there
is no less danger in timid compliance and tame res-
ignation. It is common for soft and fearful tempers
to give themselves up implicitly to the directions of
the bold, the turbulent, and the overbearing; of
those whom they do not believe wiser or better than
themselves ; to recede from the best designs where
opposition must be encountered, and to fall off from
virtue for fear of censure.

Some firmness and resolution is necessary to the
discharge of duty ; but it is a very imhappy state of
life in which the necessity of such struggles fre-
quently occurs ; for no man is defeated without
some resentment which will be continued with ob-
stinacy Avhile he beHeves himself in the right, and

390 RAMBLER. NO. 56.

exerted with bitterness, if even to his own conviction*
he is detected in the wrong.

Even though no regard be had to the external
consequences of contrariety and dispute, it must be
painful to a worthy mind to put others in pain, and
there will be danger lest the kindest nature may be
vitiated by too long a custom of debate and contest.

I am afraid that I may be taxed with insensibility
by many of my correspondents, who believe their
contributions unjustly neglected. And, indeed, when
I sit before a pile of papers, of which each is the
production of laborious study, and the offspring of a
fond parent, I, who know the passions of an author,
cannot remember how long they have lain in my
boxes unregarded, without imagining to myself the
various changes of sorrow, impatience, and resent-
ment, which the writers must have felt in this tedious
interval.

These reflections are still more awakened, when,
upon perusal, I find some of them calling for a place
in the next paper, a place which they have never yet
obtained ; others writing in a style of superiority
and haughtiness, ^s secure of deference, and above
fear of criticism ; others humbly offering their weak
assistance with softness and submission, which they
believe impossible to be resisted ; some introducing
their comj^ositions w^ith a menace of the contempt
which he that refuses them will incur ; others apply-
ing privately to the booksellers for their interest and
sohcitation ; every one by different ways endeavour-
ing to secure the bliss of publication. I cannot but
consider myself as placed in a very mcommodious
situation, where I am forced to repress confidence,
which it is pleasing to indulge, to repay civilities
with appearances of neglect, and so frequently to
offsnd those by whom I never was offended.

NO. 56. RAMBLER. 391

I know well how rarely an author, fired with the
beauties of his new composition, contains his raptures
in his own bosom, and how naturally he imparts to
his friends his expectations of renown ; and as I can
easily conceive the eagerness with which a new
paper is snatched up, by one who expects to find it
filled with his own production, and, perhaps, has
called his companions to share the pleasure of a
second perusal, I grieve for the disappointment which
he is to feel at the fatal inspection. His hopes,
however, do not yet forsake him ; he is certain of
giving lustre the next day. The next day comes,
and again he pants with expectation, and having
dreamed of laurels and Parnassus, casts his eyes
upon the barren page with which he is doomed never
more to be delighted.

For such cruelty what atonement can be made ?
For such calamities what alleviation can be found ?
I am afraid that the mischief already done must be
without reparation, and all that deserves my care is
prevention for the future. Let, therefore, the next
friendly contributor, whoever he be, observe the
cautions of Swift, and write secretly in his own
chamber, without communicating his design to his
nearest friend, for the nearest friend will be pleased
with an opportunity of laughing. Let him carry it
to the post himself, and wait in silence for the event.
If it is published and praised, he may then declare
himself the author : if it be suppressed, he may
wonder in private without much vexation ; and if it
be censured, he may join in the cry, and lament the
dulness of the writing generation.

392 EAMBLEK. NO. 57.

No. 57. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 2, 1750.

Non intellifjunt homines quam magnum vectigal sit parsimonia.

TULL.

The world has not yet leai-ned the riches of frugaUty.

" TO THE RAMBLER.
" SIR,

" I AM always pleased when I see literature made
useful, and scholars descending from that elevation,
which, as it raises them above common life, must
likewise hinder them from beholding the ways of
men otherwise than in a cloud of bustle and con-
fusion. Having lived a life of business, and re-
marked how seldom any occurrences emerge for
which great qualities are required, I have learned
the necessity of regarding little things ; and though
I do not pretend to give laws to the legislators of
mankind, or to limit the range of those powerful
minds that carry light and heat through all the
regions of knowledge, yet I have long thought, that
the greatest part of those who lose themselves in
studies, by which I have not found that they grow
much wiser, might, with more advantage, both to
the public and themselves, apply their understanding
to domestic arts, and store their minds Avith axioms of
humble prudence and private economy.

" Your late paper on frugality was very elegant
and pleasing, but, in my opinion, not sufficiently
adapted to common readers, who pay little regard

NO. 57. RAMBLER. 393

to the music of periods, the artifice of connection, or
the arrangement of the flowers of rhetoric ; but re-
quire a few plain and cogent instructions; which
may sink into the mind of their own weight.

" FrugaUty is so necessary to the happiness of the
world, so beneficial in its various forms to every rank
of men, from the highest of human potentates, to
the lowest labourer or artificer; and the miseries
whicli the neglect of it produces are so numerous
and so grievous, that it ought to be recommended
with every variation of address, and adapted to
every class of understanding.

" Whether those who treat morals as a science will
allow frugality to be numbered among the virtues,
I have not thought it necessary to inquire. For I,
who draw my opinions from a careful observation
of the world, am satisfied with knowing what is
abundantly sufficient for j)ractice, that if it be not a
virtue, it is, at least, a quality which can seldom
exist without some virtues, and without which few
virtues can exist. Frugality may be termed the
daughter of Prudence, the sister of Temperance,
and the parent of Liberty. He that is extravagant
will quickly become poor, and poverty will enforce
dependence, and invite corruption ; it will almost
always produce a passive compliance with the wick-
edness of others ; and there are few who do not
learn, by degrees, to practise those crimes which they
cease to censure.

" If there are any who do not dread poverty as
dangerous to virtue, yet mankind seem unanimous
enough in abhorring it as destructive to happiness ;
and all to whom want is terrible, upon whatever
principle, ought to think themselves obliged to learn
the sage maxims of our parsimonious ancestors, and
attain the salutary arts of contracting expense ; for

394 RAMBLER. NO. 57.

without frugality none can be rich, and with it very
few would be poor.

" To most other acts of virtue, or exertions of
wisdom, a concurrence of many circumstances is
necessary, some previous knowledge must be at-
tained, some uncommon gifts of nature possessed, or
some opportunity produced by an extraordinary
combination of things; but the mere power of
saving what is already in our hands, must be easy
of acquisition to every mind ; and as the example
of Bacon may show that the highest intellect can-
not safely neglect it, a thousand instances will every
day prove, that the meanest may practise it with
success.

" Riches cannot be within the reach of great num-
bers, because to be rich is to possess more than is
commonly placed in a single hand; and if many
could obtain the sum which now makes a man
wealthy, the name of wealth must then be trans-
ferred to still greater accumulations. But I am not
certain that it is equally impossible to exempt the
lower classes of mankind from poverty ; because,
though whatever be the wealth of the community,
some will always have least, and he that has less
than any other is comparatively poor ; yet I do not
see any coactive necessity that many should be with-
out the indispensable conveniencies of life ; but am
sometimes inclined to imagine, that, casual calamities
excepted, there might, by universal prudence, be pro-
cured an universal exemption from want ; and that
he who should happen to have least, might, notwith-
standing, have enough.

" But without entering too far into speculations
which I do not remember that any political calculator
has attempted, and in which the most perspicacious
reasoner may be easily bewildered, it is evident that

NO. 67. RAMBLER. 395

they to whom Providence has allotted no other care
but of then- own fortune and their own virtue, which
make far the greater part of mankind, have sufficient
incitements to personal frugality; since, whatever
might be its general effect upon provinces or nations,
by which it is never likely to be tried, we know with
certainty that there is scarcely any individual enter-
ing the world, who, by prudent parsimony, may not
reasonably promise himself a cheerful competence
in the decline of life.

" The prospect of penury in age is so gloomy and
terrifying, that every man who looks before him
must resolve to avoid it; and it must be avoided
generally by the science of sparring. For, though
in every age there are some who, by bold adventures
or by favourable accidents, rise suddenly to riches,
yet it is dangerous to indulge hopes of such rare
events ; and the bulk of mankind must owe their
affluence to small and gradual proj&ts, below which
their expense must be resolutely reduced.

" You must not, therefore, think me sinking below
the dignity of a practical philosopher, when I recom-
mend to the consideration of your readers, from the
statesman to the apprentice, a position replete with
mercantile wisdom : 'A penny saved is two-pence
got ; ' which may, I think, be accommodated to all
conditions, by observing, not only that they who
pursue any lucrative employment will save time
when they forbear expense, and that the time may
be employed to the increase of profit ; but that they
who are above such minute considerations, will find,
by every victory over appetite or passion, new
strength added to the mind, wiU gain the power
of refusing those solicitations by which the young
and vivacious are hourly assaulted, and in time

396 RAMBLER. NO. 57.

set themselves above the reach of extravagance
and follj.

" It may, perhaps, be inquired by those who are
willing rather to cavil than to learn, what is the just
measure of frugality ? and when expense, not abso-
lutely necessaiy, degenerates into profusion ? To
such questions no general answer can be returned ;
since the liberty of spending, or necessity of parsi-
mony, may be varied without end by different cir-
cumstances. It may, however, be laid down as a
rule never to be broken, that 'a man's voluntary
expense should not exceed his revenue ; ' a maxim
so obvious and incontrovertible, that the civil law
ranks the prodigal with the madman, and debars
them equally from the conduct of their own affairs.
Another precept arising from the former, and, indeed,
included in it, is yet necessary to be distinctly im-
pressed upon the warm, the fanciful, and the brave :
* Let no man anticipate uncertain profits.' Let no
man presume to spend upon hopes, to trust his own
abilities for means of deliverance from penury, to
give a loose to his present desires, and leave the
reckoning to fortune or to virtue.

" To these cautions, which, I suppose, are, at least
among the graver part of mankind, undisputed, I will
add another : ' Let no man squander against his in-
clination.' With this precept it may be, perhaps,
imagined easy to comply ; yet if those whom pro-
fusion has buried in prisons, or driven into banish-
ment, were examined, it would be found that very
few were ruined by their own choice, or i^urchased
pleasure with the loss of their estates ; but that they
suffered themselves to be borne away by the violence
of those with whom they conversed, and yielded
reluctantly to a thousand prodigalities, either from
a trivial emulation of wealth and spirit, or a mean

NO. 58. RAMBLER.

397

fear of contempt and ridicule ; an emulation for the
prize of folly, or the dread of the laugh of fools.

" I am, Sir,

" Your humble servant,

" SOPHRON."

No. 58. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1750.

— Improbce
Crescunt divitice. Tamen
CurtoB nescio quid semper abest rei.

HOE. CAE. iii. 24. 62.

But, while in heaps his -wicked wealth ascends,

He is not of his wish possest ;
There 's something wanting still to make him blest.

FRANCIS.

As the love of money has been, in all ages, one
of the passions that have given great disturbance to
the tranquillity of the world, there is no topic more
copiously treated by the ancient moralists than the
folly of devoting the heart to the accumulation of
riches. They who are acquainted with these authors
need not to be told how riches excite pity, contempt,
or reproach, whenever they are mentioned ; with
what numbers of examples the danger of large pos-
sessions is illustrated ; and how all the powers of
reason and eloquence have been exhausted in en-
deavours to eradicate a desire, which seems to have
intrenched itself too strongly in the mind to be
driven out, and which, perhaps, had not lost its

398 RAMBLER.

NO. 58.

power, even over those who declaimed against it,
but would have broken out in the poet or the sage,
if it had been excited by opportunity, and invigo-
rated by the approximation of its proper object.

Their arguments have been, indeed, so unsuccess-
ful, that I know not whether it can be shown, that
by all the wit and reason which this favourite cause
has called forth, a single convert was ever made ;
that even one man has refused to be rich, when to
be rich was in his power, from the conviction of the
greater happiness of a narrow fortune ; or disbur-
dened himself of wealth, when he had tried its
inquietudes, merely to enjoy the peace, and leisure,
and security of a mean and unenvied state.

It is^ true, indeed, that many have neglected op-
portunities of raising themselves to honours and to
wealth, and rejected the kindest offers of fortune :
but, however their moderation may be boasted by
themselves, or admired by such as only view them
at a distance, it will be, perhaps, seldom found that
they value riches less, but that they dread labour or
danger more than others ; they are unable to rouse
themselves to action, to strain in the race of compe-
tition, or to stand the shock of contest; but though
they, therefore, decline the toil of climbing, they
nevertheless wish themselves aloft, and would will-
ingly enjoy what they dare not seize.

Others have retired from high stations, and volun-
tarily condemned themselves to privacy and obscur-
ity. But, even these will not afford many occasions
of triumph to the philosopher ; for they have com-
monly either quitted that only which they thought
themselves unable to hold, and prevented disgrace
by resignation ; or they have been induced or try
new measures by general inconstancy, which always
dreams of happiness in novelty, or by a gloomy dis-

NO. 58. RAMBLER. 399

position, whicli is disgusted in the same degree with
every state, and wishes every scene of hfe to
change as soon as it is beheld. Such men found
high and low stations equally unable to satisfy the
wishes of a distempered mind, and were unable to
shelter themselves in the closest retreat from disap-
pointment, solicitude, and misery.

Yet though these admonitions have been thus
neglected by those, who either enjoyed riches, or
were able to procure them, it is not rashly to be
determined that they are altogether without use ; for
since far the greatest part of mankind must be con-
fined to conditions comparatively mean, and placed
in situations, from which they naturally look up with
envy to the eminences before them, those writers
cannot be thought ill employed that have admin-
istered remedies to discontent almost universal, by
showing, that what we cannot reach may very well
be forborne, that the inequality of distribution, at
which we murmur, is for the most part less than it
seems, and that the greatness, which we admire
at a distance, has much fewer advantages, and
much less splendour, when we are suffered to ap-
proach it.

It is the business of moralists to detect the frauds
of fortune, and to show that she imposes upon the
careless eye, by a quick succession of shadows, which
will shrink to nothing in the gripe ; that she dis-
guises life in extrinsic ornaments, which serve only
for show, and are laid aside in the hours of solitude
and of pleasure ; and that, when greatness aspires
either to felicity or to wisdom, it shakes off those
distinctions which dazzle the gazer and awe the
supplicant.

It may be remarked, that they whose condition
has not afforded them the light of moral and relig-

400 RAMBLER. NO. 58.

ious instruction, and who collect all their ideas by
their own eyes, and digest them by their own under-
standings, seem to consider those who are placed in
ranks of remote superiority, as almost another and
higher species of beings. As themselves have
known little other misery than the consequences of
want, they are with difficulty persuaded that where
there is wealth there can be sorrow, or that those
who glitter in dignity, and glide along in affluence,
can be acquainted with pains and cares like those
which lie heavy upon the rest of mankind.

This prejudice is, indeed, confined to the lowest
meanness and the darkest ignorance ; but it is so
confined only because others have been shown its
folly and its falsehood, because it has been opposed
in its progress by history and philosophy, and hin-
dered from spreading its infection by powerful pre-
servatives.

The doctrine of the contempt of wealth, though it
has not been able to extinguish avarice or ambition,
or suppress that reluctance with which a man passes
his days in a state of inferiority, must, at least, have
made the lower conditions less grating and weari-
some, and has consequently contributed to the gen-
eral security of life, by hindering that fraud and
violence, rapine and circumvention, which must have
been produced by an unbounded eagerness of wealth,
arising from an unshaken conviction, that to be rich
is to be happy.

Whoever finds himself incited, by some violent
impulse of passion, to pursue riches as the chief end
of being, must surely be so much alarmed by the
successive admonitions of those, whose experience
and sagacity have recommended them as the guides
of mankind, as to stop and consider whether he is
about to engage in an undertaking that will reward

NO. 58. RAMBLER. 401

his toil, and to examine, before lie rushes to wealth,
through right and wrong, what it will confer when
he has acquired it ; and this examination will seldom
fail to repress his ardour and retard his violence.

Wealth is nothing in itself, it is not useful but
when it departs from us ; its value is found only in
that which it can purchase, which, if we suppose it
put to its best use by those that possess it, seems not
much to deserve the desire or envy of a wise man.
It is certain, that, with regard to corporal enjoy-
ment, money can neither open new avenues to pleas-
ure, nor block up the passages of anguish. Disease
and infirmity still continue to torture and enfeeble,
perhaps exasperated by luxury, or promoted by
softness. With respect to the mind, it has rarely
been observed that wealth contributes much to
quicken the discernment, enlarge the capacity, or
elevate the imagination ; but may, by hiring flattery,
or laying diligence asleep, confirm error and harden
stupidity.

Wealth cannot confer greatness, for nothing can
make that great which the decree of nature has
ordained to be little. The bramble may be placed
in a hotbed, but can never become an oak. Even
royalty itself is not able to give that dignity which
it happens not to find, but oppresses feeble minds,
though it may elevate the strong. The world has
been governed in the name of kings, whose existence
has scarcely been perceived by any real effects be-
yond their own palaces.

When, therefore, the desire of wealth is taking
hold of the heart, let us look round and see how it
operates upon those whose industry or fortune has
obtained it. When we find them oppressed with
their own abundance, luxurious without pleasure,
idle without ease, impatient and querulous in them-

VOL. XVI. 26

402 RAMBLER. NO. 59.

selves, and despised or hated by the rest of mankind,
we shall soon be convinced, that if the real wants of
our condition are satisfied, there remains little to be
sought with solicitude, or desired with eagerness.

No. 59. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 9, 1750.

Est aliquid fatdle malum per verba levari,
Hoc querulam Halcyonenque Prognen fadt :

Hoc erat, in gelido quare Pceanilus antro
Vox fatigaret Lemnia saxa sua.

Strangulat inclusus dolor^ atque excestuat iniiis^
Cogitur et vires multiplicare suas.

OVID, TRIST. T. 69.

Complaining oft, gives respite to our grief;
From hence tlie wretched Progne sought relief,
Hence the P^eantian chief his fate deplores,
And vents his sorrow to the Lemnian shores:
In vain by secrecy we would assuage
Our cares; conceal'd they gather tenfold rage.

F. LEWIS.

It is common to distinguish men by the names of
animals which they are supposed to resemble. Thus
a hero is frequently termed a lion, and a statesman
a fox, an extortioner gains the appellation of vulture,
and a fop the title of monkey. There is also among
the various anomalies of character, which a survey
of the world exhibits, a species of beings in human
form, which may be properly marked out as the
screech-owls of mankind.

These screech-owls seem to be settled in an
opiuion, that the great business of life is to com-

NO. 59. RAMBLER. 403

plain, and that they were born for no other purpose
than to disturb the happiness of others, to lessen the
little comforts and shorten the short pleasures of our
condition, by painful remembrances of the past, or
melancholy prognostics of the future ; their only
care is to crush the rising hope, to damp the kindling
transport, and allay the golden hours of gayety with
the hateful dross of grief and suspicion. |

To those, whose weakness of spirits, or timidity
of temper, subjects them to impressions from others,
and who are apt to suffer by fascination, and catch
the contagion of misery, it is extremely unhappy to
live within the compass of a screech-owl's voice ; for
it will often fill their ears in the hour of dejection,
terrify them with apprehensions, which their own
thoughts would i^ver have produced, and sadden,
by intruded sorrows, the day which might have been
passed in amusements or in business ; it will burden
the heart with unnecessary discontents, and w^eaken,
for a time, that love of life which is necessary to the
vigorous prosecution of any undertaking.

Though I have, like the rest of mankind, many
failings and weaknesses, I have not yet, by either
friends or enemies, been charged with superstition ;
I never count the company which I enter, and I
look at the new moon indifferently over either
shoulder. I have, like most other philosophers,
often heard the cuckoo without money in my pocket,
and have been sometimes reproached as foolhardy
for not turning down my eyes when a raven flew
over my head. I never go home abruptly, because
a snake crosses my way, nor have any particular
dread of a climacterical year ; yet I confess, that,
with all my scorn of old women, and their tales,
I consider it as an unhappy day when I happen
to be greeted in the morning by Suspirius, the
screech-owl.

404 RAMBLER. NO. 59.

I have now known Suspirius fiftj-eight, years and
four months, and have never yet passed an hour
with him in which he has not made some attack
upon my quiet. When we were first acquainted,
his great topic was the misery of youth without
riches, and whenever we walked out together, he
solaced me with a long enumeration of pleasures,
which, a| they were beyond the reach of my fortune,
were without the verge of my desires, and which I
should never have considered as the objects of a
wish, had not his unseasonable representations j)laced
them in my sight.

Another of his topics is, the neglect of merit, with
which he never fails to amuse every man whom he
sees not eminently fortunate. If he meets with a
young officer, he always informs lym of gentlemen
whose personal courage is unquestioned, and whose
military skill qualifies them to command armies,
that have, notwithstanding all their merit, grown
old with subaltern commissions. For a genius in
the church, he is always provided with a curacy for
life. The lawyer' he informs of many men of great
parts and deep study, who have never had an op-
portunity to speak in the courts : and meeting Sere-
nus, the physician : ' Ah doctor,' says he, ' what, a-
foot still, when so many blockheads are rattling in
their chariots ? I told you seven years ago that you
would never meet with encouragement, and I hope
you will now take more notice, when I tell you, that
your Greek, and your diligence, and your honesty,
will never enable you to live like yonder apothecary,
who prescribes to his own shop, and laughs at the
physician.'

Suspirius has, in his time, intercepted fifteen
authors in their way to the stage ; persuaded nine-
and-thirty merchants to retire from a prosperous

NO. 59. RAMBLER. 405

trade for fear of bankruptcy, broke off a hundred
and thirteen matches by prognostications of un-
happiness, and enabled the smallpox to kill nine-
teen ladies, by perpetual alarms of the loss of
beauty.

Whenever my evil stars bring us together, he
never fails to represent to me the folly of my pur-
suits, and informs me that we are much older than
when we began our acquaintance, that the mfirmi-
ties of decrepitude are coming fast upon me, that
whatever I now get I shall enjoy but a little time,
that fame is to a man tottering on the edge' of
the grave of very little importance, and that the
time is at hand when I ought to look for no other
pleasures than a good dinner and an easy-chair.

^ Thus he goes on in his unharmonious strain,
displaying present miseries, and foreboding more
vvtiTLKopa^ uei T^avaT7}(p6pog, every syllable is loaded with
misfortune, and death is always brought nearer to
the view. Yet, what always raises my resentment
and indignation, I do not perceive that his mournful
meditations have much effect upon himself He
talks, and has long talked of calamities, without dis-
covering, otherwise than by the tone of his voice,
that he feels any of the evils which he bewails or
threatens, but has the same habit of uttering lamen-
tations, as others of telling stories, and falls into ex-
pressions of condolence for past, or apprehension of
future mischiefs, as all men, studious of their ease,
have recourse to those subjects upon which they can
most fluently or copiously discourse.

It is reported of the Sybarites, that they destroyed
all their cocks, that they might dream out their morn-
ing dreams without disturbance. Though I would
not so far promote effeminacy as to propose the Sy-
barites for an example, yet since there is no man so

406 RAMBLER. NO. 59.

corrupt or foolish, but something useful may be
learned from him, I could wish that, in imitation of
a people not often to be copied, some regulations
might be made to exclude screech-owls from all
•company, as the enemies of mankmd, and confine
them to some proper receptacle, where they may
mingle sighs at leisui-e, and thicken the gloom of one
another.

Thou prophet of evil, says Homer's Agamemnon,
thou never foretellest me good, but the joy of thy
heart is to predict misfortunes. Whoever is of the
same temper might there find the means of indulging
his thoughts, and improving his vein of denunciation,
and the flock of screech-owls might hoot together
without injury to the rest of the world.

Yet, though I have so little kindness for this dark
generation, I am very far from intendmg to debar
the soft and tender mind from the j)rivilege of com-
plaining, when the sigh rises from the desire not of
giving pain, but of gaining ease. To hear complaints
with patience, even when complaints are vain, is one
of the duties of friendship) ; and though it must be
allowed that he suffers most like a hero that hides
his grief in silence,

Spem vultu simulate premit alium corde dolorem.

VIEG. ^EN. i. 209.

His outward smiles conceal' d his inward smart.

DRYDEN.

yet, it cannot be denied that he who complains acts
like a man, like a social being, who looks for help
from his fellow-creatures. Pity is to many of the
unhappy a source of comfort in hopeless distresses,
as it contributes to recommend them to themselves,
by proving that they have not lost the regard of

NO. 60. RAMBLER. 407

Others ; and Heaven seems to indicate the duty even
of barren compassion, by inclining us to weep for
evils which we cannot remedy.

No. 60. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1750.

— Quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile^ quid non,
PUniiis ac melius Chrysippo et Crantore dicit.

HOE. EPIST. i. 2. 3.

Whose works the beautiful and base contain,

Of vice and virtue more instructive niles,

Than all the sober sages of the schools. francis.

All joy or sorrow for the happiness or calamities
of others is produced by an act of the imagination,
that realizes the event however fictitious, or approxi-
mates it however remote, by placing us, for a time,
in the condition of him whose fortune we contem-
plate; so that we feel, while the deception lasts,
whatever motions would be excited by the same good
or evil happening to ourselves.

Our passions are, therefore, more strongly moved,
in proportion as we can more readily adopt the pains
or pleasure proposed to our minds, by recognizing
them as once our own, or considering them as nat-
urally incident to our state of life. It is not easy
for the most artful writer to give us an interest in
happiness or misery, which we thmk ourselves never
likely to feel, and with which we have never yet
been made acquainted. Histories of the downfall of
kingdoms, and revolutions of empires, are read with

408 • RAMBLER. NO. 60.

great tranqnilllty ; the imperial tragedy pleases com-
mon auditors only by its pomjD of ornament and gran-
deur of ideas ; and the man whose faculties have been
engrossed by business, and whose heart never flut-
tered but at the rise or fall of the stocks, wonders
how the -attention can be seized, or the affection
agitated, by a tale of love.

Those parallel circumstances, and kindred images,
to which we readily conform our minds, are, above
all other writings, to be found in narratives of the
lives of particular persons ; and, therefore, no sj)ecies
of writing seems more worthy of cultivation than
biography, since none can be more delightful or
more useful, none can more certainly enchain the
heart by, irresistible interest, or more widely diffuse
instruction to every diversity of condition.

The general and rapid narratives of history, which
involve a thousand fortunes in the business of a day,
and compUcate innumerable incidents in one great
transaction, afford few lessons applicable to private
life, which derives its comforts and its wretchedness
from the ri<]i;lit or wronor manaofement of things,
which nothing but their frequency makes consider-
able, Parva si non Jiunt quotidie, says Pliny, and
which can have no place in those relations which
never descend below the consultations of senates,
the motions of armies, and the schemes of con-
spirators.

I have often thought that there has rarely passed
a life of which a judicious and faithful narrative
would not be useful. For, not only every man has,
in the mighty mass of the world, great numbers in
the same condition with himself, to whom his mis-
takes and miscarriages, escapes and expedients,
would be of immediate and apparent use ; but
there is such an uniformity in the state of man.

NO. 60. RAMBLER. 409

considered apart from adventitious and separable
decorations and disguises, that there is scarce any
possibility of good Qr ill, but is common to human
kind. A great part of the time of those who are
placed at the greatest distance by fortune, or by
temper, must miavoidably pass in the same manner ;
and though, when the claims of nature are satisfied,
caprice, and vanity, and accident, begin to produce
discrmiinations and peculiarities, yet the eye is not
very heedful or quick, which cannot discover the
same causes still terminating their influence in the
same effects, though sometimes accelerated, some-
times retarded, or perplexed by multiplied combina-
tions. We are all prompted by the same motives,
all deceived by the same fallacies, all animated by
hope, obstructed by danger, entangled by desire, and
seduced by pleasure.

It is frequently objected to relations of particular
lives, that they are not distmguished by any striking
or wonderful vicissitudes. The scholar who passed
his life among his books, the merchant who con-
ducted only his own affairs, the priest w^hose sphere
of action was not extended beyond that of his duty,
are considered as no proper objects of public regard,
however they might have excelled in their several
stations, whatever might have been their learning,
integrity, and piety. But this notion arises from
false measures of excellence and dignity, and must
be eradicated by considering that, in the esteem of
uncorrupted reason, wdiat is of most use is of most
value.

It is, indeed, not improper to take honest advan-
tages of prejudice, and to gain attention by a cele-
brated name ; but the business of the biographer is
often to pass slightly over those performances and
incidents, wdiich produce vulgar greatness, to lead

410 RAMBLER. NO. 60.

the thoughts into domestic privacies, and display the
minute details of daily life, where exterior append-
ages are cast aside, and men excel each other only
by prudence and by virtue. The account of Thuanus
is, with great propriety, said by its author to have
been written, that it might lay open to posterity the
private and familiar character of that man, cujus
ingenium et candorem ex ipsius scriptis sunt olim
semper miraturi, ' whose candour and genius will,
to the end of time, be by his writings preserved in
admiration.'

There are many invisible circumstances which,
whether we read as inquirers after natural or moral
knowledge, whether we intend to enlarge our science,
or increase our virtue, are more important than pub-
Uc occurrences. Thus Sallust, the great master of
nature, has not forgot, in his account of Catilme, to
remark that ' his walk was now quick, and again slow,*
as an indication of a mind revolving something with
violent commotion. Thus the story of Melancthon
affords a striking lecture on the value of time, by
inibrming us, that when he made an appointment,
he expected not only the hour, but the minute to be
fixed, that the day might not run out in the idleness
of suspense ; and all the plans and enterprises of
De Wit are now of less importance to the world,
than that part of his personal character which repre-
sented him as ' careful of his health, and negligent
of his Ufe.'

But biography has often been allotted to writers
who seem very little acquainted with the nature of
their task, or very negligent about the performance.
They rarely afford any other account than might be
collected from public papers, but imagine themselves
writing a hfe when they exhibit a chronological
series of actions or preferment ; and so little regard

NO. 60. RAMBLER. 411

the manners or behaviour of their heroes, that more
knowledge may be gained of a man's real character,
by a short conversation with one of his servants,
than from a formal and stndied narrative, begun with
his pedigree and ended with his funeral.

If now and then thej condescend to inform the
world of particular facts, they are not always so
happy as to select the most important. I know not
well what advantage posterity can receive from the
only circumstance by which Tickell has distinguished
Addison from the rest of mankind, the u'regularity
of his pulse : nor can I thmk myself overpaid for
the time spent in reading the life of Malherb, by
being enabled to relate, after the learned biographer,
that Malherb had two predominant opinions ; one,
that the looseness of a single woman might destroy
all her boast of ancient descent ; the other, that the
French beggars made use very improperly and bar-
barously of the phrase ' noble gentleman,' because
either word included the sense of both.

There are, indeed, some natural reasons why these
narratives are often written by such as were not
likely to give much instruction or delight,, and why
most accounts of particular persons are barren and
useless. If a life be delayed till interest and envy
are at an end, we may hope for impartiality, but
must expect little intelligence ; for the incidents
which give excellence to biography are of a volatile
and evanescent kind, such as soon escape the mem-
ory, and are rarely transmitted by tradition. We
know how few can portray a living acquaintance,
except by his most prominent and observable par-
ticularities, and the grosser features of his mind;
and it may be easily imagined how much of this little
knowledge may be lost in imparting it, and how soon

412 RAMBLER. j^O. 60.

a succession of copies will lose all resemblance of
the original.

If the biographer writes from personal knowledge,
and makes haste to gratify the public curiosity, there
IS danger lest his interest, his fear, his gratitude, or
his tenderness, overpower his fidelity, and tempt him
to conceal, if not to invent. There are many who
thmk it an act of piety to hide the faults or failings
of their friends, even when they can no longer suffer
by their detection : we therefore see whole ranks of
characters adorned with uniform panegyric, and not
to be known from one another, but by^extrinsic and
casual circumstances. " Let me remember," says
Hale, " when I find myself inclined to pity a crim-
mal,^ that there is, likewise, a pity due to the coun-
try." If we owe regard to the memory of the dead,
there is yet more respect to be paid to knowledge,
to virtue, and to truth.

END OP VOL. XVI.

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